


To Every Season

by enigmav, Gairid, Leshan, urielsgate



Series: Torn, Frayed and Mended [1]
Category: Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:05:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 59
Words: 137,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1329490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmav/pseuds/enigmav, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gairid/pseuds/Gairid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leshan/pseuds/Leshan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/urielsgate/pseuds/urielsgate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a long collaborative piece that took roughly 16 months to complete. Please take your time, read and give us flowers and candy as rewards. Okay, that might be difficult. We'll just take your thoughtful comments instead. Thank you and we hope you enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Brilliant Star Fades In The East

**Lestat**

**A Brilliant Star Fades In the East**

When I last left off in my writing – at least to any extent that it was done here, I had just pulled off a gloriously ethereal Christmas scene for my beloved Louis. With the help of our mutual friend, Brian, I had created something that was at once theatrical, pristine, and erotic: I might be the only one capable of that combination, wouldn’t you agree? At any rate, it was lovely, and for weeks afterward he and I were lost to a comfortable sway, and life was as much as it can be for our kind, normal.

By spring however, I was feeling a familiar restlessness in my entire body. It was at times, almost something like a panic – a feeling that without reason, walls were closing in and that before something calamitous occurred, I had to get out of the room, the house, the city… wait, Lestat, catch your breath, it’s only a passing storm. I would calm myself through meditation and I’ll admit, on occasion, through the exclusive intoxication brought about by mortal blood. I’ll make no apologies as if I were a recovered alcoholic, because I am by no means rehabilitated.

In my meditations, I often heard my far away friend and guru, Khetsun as he whispered in answer to the inevitable thoughts that arose. If you’re wondering who he is, the brief version is that in one of these times when I felt to wander away from my home and dearest lover Louis, I found myself in one of most remote areas of China, and in this sojourn, met an almost stereotypical man who turned out to be stereotypically wise. I mean to say he was old school, with the straw hat and loose clothing, a shuffled way of walking, and a Yoda way of speaking. Now I know according to traditional meditation standards I’m supposed to sit there and let the emptiness move through me and take all manner of stress and hyper-focus away on an invisible tide. While there are many occasions when I can reach the pinnacle of silence and non-thought, I’m not a conventional anything and as such, many times I find that meditation may take me places in a sort of out-of-body session, or it may open me up to what I can only call channeled insight. What do I know anyway? Just because I’ve seen God, Satan and nearly everything in between doesn’t mean I have all the answers – certainly not, even when I’ll insist otherwise. When Khetsun would whisper, it would always touch me deeply for as I’ve already said, he was almost a caricature of himself, and his gentle humor brought what I needed to hear – though when I was with him in person, I would almost become flustered and indignant when he revealed such accurate assessments of my character strengths and flaws. If it weren’t for his age and gentle mannerisms, I may well have flung him over whatever random mountainside we traveled, or hung him from the nearest tree. In a gesture both kind and selfish, I would have drained him before the fall and captured all his knowledge. Why would I let it go to waste when it could only improve the vampire I’d become? Yes these horrid thoughts passed through my mind, but as I’ve already said, I remain without apology.

He knew me for what I was of course; He knew it from the first night I happened upon him as he walked the narrow street that led out of the village and up the side of the mountain. What I was doing in that particular place has no relevance other than this chance encounter. I was almost invisibly perched on a large rock, silent as the thing itself looking out over the small houses below. The hunger within me was palpable that night, and along came this shuffling old man. At once, I understood he was consummately aware… not just of me, but of everything. I slipped inside his mind out of habit, but it wasn’t like most mortal minds, full of flotsam and irrelevant tidbits of life – his was … open, breathing, unrestricted, and as I felt him conscious of the intrusion, a sort of giddiness grew within me.

To make a long story short, we made introductions in a most unconventional manner, and I followed him for a few nights – stalked, if you want to use an ugly term for my actions. He paid little more attention to me than he might have given to a mosquito, but there was that unspoken voice I could hear even in those early nights. His words would pass through my mind: What is it you want? Why are you here in this place? For each question that came, it seemed that almost in a conversation with himself, he would have an answer or at least some sort of speculation. I was silently amused, and knew I would not move on from this area until we’d come to some tangible communication.

I spent many months with him, and there are many insights that surely will be revealed in my immediate and future written materials. I can only hope the words make sense outside of the intimate moments in which they were received. As you might imagine, he had curiosity of his own and while I shared with him such details as anyone might come to learn of me from a visit to the local library, he wasn’t hung up on my celebrity as it may or may not have existed by that point.

But I digress. Louis and I had settled into our life together and the city was ours once more. How nice it was to walk with him on the old streets just after a rain. We shared a love for those long passing showers that seemed at least for a short time to wash away the layers of everything New Orleans: Sex, alcohol, poverty, destruction, hope, music, and so many other beautifully married ingredients were in themselves an intoxication that prompted an occasional detox. The rain rinsed away perhaps everything but the deepest essence and soul of the city, which has proven indestructible.  

When my restlessness became a nightly agitation, when it began to bother Louis past the point of the occasional raised brow, I sat down in earnest and opened my mind to this far away soul. Once I was out of what I call the Earthly Zone, I felt him beside me.

“Lestat, the time is close.” He said. His voice was hoarse and somehow less present. “You must come.”

Did my breath falter? I was not in myself enough to tell for sure, but if someone were observing my meditation (as Louis sometimes did), they may have seen that hitch or a wince similar to what one might see on the face of a dreaming child. When I had been with him, I saw inside an illness that no amount of meditation or healthful eating could surmount. He had only given me that subtle smile and assured me that he was ready for peaceful departure from the mortal plane. It was in my nature to offer him something of a temporary cocktail to delay the effects of his disease – I believe I referred to it at the time as a longevity tonic, can you believe that? He declined at any rate and said that what I could give him was a promise to return when the time came, and so I vowed.

Perhaps this once I would not rob someone of that next great adventure.

Louis was understandably less than enthusiastic when I informed him of my intentions. He was sympathetic to the dying soul, and even to the fact that my sudden departure meant commitment to the promise I’d made. He wasn’t angry that I was leaving – understand, Louis rarely gets full-out angry about anything, but he certainly was disappointed given the relative ease and closeness of our relationship since the holidays. He was also dismayed that as usual, it seemed so very easy for me to walk away from him. Louis was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. He keenly understood that it was something more than Khetsun that pulled me away from domestic bliss by his side in our Southern home. In fact, Louis knew many things about me long before I came to admit them out loud, as was the case here in point.

Still, I left within two nights and by the fifth evening I sat among several other chosen guests in the small room where my friend lay with candlelight and incense to ease his passage. Did they know what I was as well? Surely they must have, for I’d seen some of them during my previous visit and while it is easy to conceal the nature of my being if I choose to do it actively, if a vampire is… how to say, on the same mental plane as his observers, with his mind open and unguarded, you can imagine that it is all too easy for that observer to know –what- he is observing. If they did know, they never made a big deal of it to me or so far as I knew, to Khetsun. One by one, they offered him flowers and trinkets and from his bed he would raise his frail hands to embrace them and whisper in their own sacred shared language. I felt distanced from their displays of intimacy until a gravelly summons broke my reverie.

“Lestat,” He whispered as I knelt beside him. He pronounced my name sharply, Lee’s Dot, emphasis on the first syllable. “It was no accident to meet you so close to this time.” His face softened and he gave his customary gentle laugh. “One last strange student, yes?”

“Sssh.” I brushed his thin, white hair back. “You were my teacher at last, and you will remain. This will not end, I understand.” I was close to showing one of my customary traits – weeping – but I controlled myself, for the time would come soon enough when I might find solace in solitary nights with only nature to observe my theatrics.

“Lee’s Dot, do you consider yourself,” He coughed and paused while I tried to quiet him again. “Do you consider yourself athletic?”

What a strange question at this juncture. “I consider myself… why, is this important?”

He raised his hand weakly in a gesture I’d learned to mean ‘I’m the one asking the questions right now, so quit protesting and answer them.’

“I consider myself to be a timeless example of a mortal man in his prime, but I am no athlete.” I said with a frown.

“Athletic is not athlete. You are immortal yes,” He shook his head slowly with that laugh. “Sent to me even!” His voice raised only slightly in amused disbelief. “You are immortal in the blood only, my friend. You have been born and died a thousand times. “

I wondered if he were delusional with pain or from medication, but before I might have voiced that suspicion aloud, he gave me that same admonishing wave of his hand.

“Each joy, each pleasure, your carnal indulgences, they are rebirths. Each heartbreak, each loss, each passing year of your strange existence, is as a small death: Not uncommon, but you let the valleys and summits plot your course, Lee’s Dot.” He sighed and coughed while he took my hand. I studied the map of blue veins beneath his skin and sank into the words. “You argue; not athlete, not athletic and still, always you run.” 

I could only offer a sad smile and give in to my tears. “I should have met you a century ago.”

“Time always knows.” He whispered. His breath was shallow and his eyes had taken on a glazed dullness. I was never as comfortable with death as might be expected. It is one thing to deliver it like some dark angel, and quite another to watch as another invisible hand steals away a mortal life – particularly when the life is one you’ve come to adore. “Now lessons are done.” His words were barely audible. “Take me as you promised.”

With only a brief glance behind me into the room to see two other disciples lost to their meditations, I bent over him gently and kissed his cheek with reverence. When I closed my eyes, I felt the wave approach. Any fellow meditator might understand my reference, but if I had to explain, I could only say that what I’ve always referred to as simply, ‘Is’, flows all around us, all the time in a universal current. When we open our minds, it becomes quite easy to let it carry us upward to mysterious, ambient realms. I placed my mouth above his and drew in his faint exhalations. I felt myself, alone at first, slip into the stream and then, not alone: Khetsun was inside my formless energy and literally, in that space I felt us like two happy and dare I say, somewhat surprised children. He was free, but rather than spinning off on the current, he linked his mind with mine in an intimately tenacious tangle of synapse and soul. I pulled back slowly: One might liken it to reluctantly waking from a sweet, deranged dream that begs you not to go. Slowly, yes, I held onto his spirit until once more I was conscious of the room, the incense and the silent brethren who took no notice as I stood and removed myself from their presence. They would not rouse themselves with sudden awareness of their Master’s passage, for he was not truly gone. He was with me, and together we ascended with alarming speed, into the cold night sky.

The houses became invisible and the fields below were obscured by thin wisps of clouds as we rose into the half-lit stars. For a selfish moment I thought how much more beautiful it would have been if he’d been able to wait for a full moon. I felt his energy shift, and allowed a smile, almost a laugh as I pictured his face if he heard such a notion. I thought for the briefest instant of what he’d said in those last moments, but no, right now there was a more important task.

A line from a poem by Neruda filled my mind. “I wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on the wind “ My voice was a sliver in the night sky, and in the next second, I leaned my head back, closed my eyes as I’d done with him in his tiny room, and opened my mind. Understand that it isn’t a simple switch to turn off and on in this case – I gathered concentration and intent into a tight ball somewhere around my solar plexus, and literally shoved upward until I felt something of a pop and it was then, in a swirl of golden sparks, that his spirit energy shot from my mouth and upward, faster than any ascent even I could have made. Oh such freedom! My heart alternately leapt in envy of such glory and mourned for such a great spirit departed not simply from my life, but from the planet.


	2. Rest and Relaxation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat takes a bit of a breather before his next foray into troubled waters.

**Lestat**

**Rest and Relaxation**

So it was that I left the remote places I’d come to love and went on to nothing in particular. I would like to say that I landed on a warm, sunny beach in St. Tropez and drank Piña Coladas all day, but everyone knows that isn’t plausible. If I ever have another episode where I regain my mortality, you can be sure to look for me in just such a setting. As it was, I made my way to a warmer climate of Honduras: Once I had secured a bit of cash and necessary details in [Tegucigalpa,](http://www.honduras.com/tegucigalpa-honduras/) I lost myself in the tourist crowd of the Islas de la Bahía. It was a good place for a vampire who hadn’t fed the instinctive hunger in far too long. In the first week, I fed to the point of delicious exhaustion. The additional deaths were nothing worth noticing in a place with such a high murder rate. Once my appetite was sated, I sat on a moonlit stretch of sand in a remote cove doing little more than watching the stars, and made my daytime bed beneath ancient stone slabs in an overgrown jungle of trees and vines where no soul had or would venture for decades.

I’m sure it is readily asked why I did not simply return to Louis. He surely remained in New Orleans and though it couldn’t be said that he pined for my return, I knew I would be welcome. The thought of his greeting was almost enticement enough to make the trip and surprise him as he walked the back alleys along Terpsichore Street or perhaps Annunciation, which he always favored. I smiled at the thought of him there; so clearly I could picture his gait and mannerisms. There had been a few nights of surveying those locales together, but even after all this time, Louis preferred to hunt alone and furthermore, I think when he passed by certain places, he felt a haunted well of grief rise within him. I suppose he didn’t think I noticed the sudden shift in his emotions, but I felt the change most particularly when we neared the place where his ramshackle cottage once stood, burned down by Yours Truly. Our past, those tragic vignettes never ceased to render me a bit stunned upon recollection and make me ask for the thousandth time why he allowed such behavior from me time and again. One as loyal and loving as Louis is undeserving of such neglect, and even now in all this time I’d been away how many times had I called him to even say hello? Cell phone access might be nearly non-existent in remote China but then, I am Lestat, right? If I’d wanted to call him, I’d have found a way of doing so more than the three, maybe four times in over a two-year span. Now, as I sat on the deserted beach or at a crowded bar, I could have called him – and I didn’t. Yes, alright, I’m an ass: I readily admit that fact, but it is also true that Louis both enjoys and deserves his own space – aside from the fact that when I am in a state of limbo as I was in Honduras, I’m not much good to anyone and better left alone.

After two weeks of idleness, I was surprised by a message from my accountant who by the course of rather tedious and inconvenient investigations, could locate me by tracking credit transactions on any of the many cards I held. He had heard from my lawyers that the home I once held in Ravello, Italy was available should I have need or the casual wish to occupy the place. The fellow I’d sold it to, whom I referred to as The Don, and his Dame, had apparently found reason to eh, take an extended holiday out of the country on a rather immediate basis, and had insisted to their own army of attorneys that the previous owner and preferred guests be the only persons granted access to the villa until and if the time came that they could return to Italy. Who was I to argue?

I shrugged as I read the message under the shade of a dilapidated seaside food shack. I hadn’t been to Italy since I spent months there with Lucas, and naturally, the news brought him back in a rush of memory that seemed to blow away just as readily on the ever-present breeze. Once I was past the initial surprise news of his death, I could not feel particularly bad for the way things had turned out with that mortal. If I was honest about the entire matter, one might hear an admission that young Lucas had been nothing more than a substitute for what Italy really held. The thought of that presence, here now in the night with the trade winds caressing my face, was sensual enough to close my eyes and arouse my senses to the point that I approached the aging brown-faced vendor behind the counter and with a friendly smile and a hope for mostly correct Spanish, told him I was “muy hambriento”, indeed.

Needless to say, the meager clapboard menu didn’t offer anything that would satisfy my appetite, but his rich, warm blood fit the bill perfectly. I finished him and dragged his corpse to a grass covered inlet, where the seawater and heat would become a destructive resting place: It was as I recalled with a laugh, rather savage, this garden.

I awoke the next evening to a torrential rain. There was little reason to venture out of the warm cave that I’d slept in for the past two nights – that’s right, a cave. You’d be surprised how accommodating they can be, with stone ledges that creep back into places no light or hands could think to reach, usually with softly decayed brush and sand to lessen the discomfort. While I wouldn’t recommend a cave over a presidential suite, it suffices when there is such a need and in my immortal years I’ve learned as they say, to roll with it.

In a niche near the entrance I ignited a small bit of dried wood and lay down to stare up at the various patterns on the tan stone ceiling. I thought it was too bad I didn’t have some chalk or in modern technique, perhaps a can of spray paint from the Wal-Mart with which to tag the walls. Is there a Wal-Mart in Honduras I wondered? Probably. Like the cucarachas, they’re everywhere. I sat up to look around. There were rocks of all sizes and one at a time I took them into my hands, gauging their weight and structure. Finally, I landed the perfect tool, with one side as sharp as any axe and there in the firelight, I etched my presence into the stone. Oh I could have been funny and in a heart complete with fringed arrow stuck through, wrote, “LdL + LdPdL 4-Ever” – and it crossed my mind but Louis’ initials are awkward and the whole thing would have been entirely too vague to create curiosity for very long. Instead, I pressed and scratched and left a mark that stated, “Lestat Le Vampire. Ne 1760, Auvergne” The rock had all but crumbled away on the last two letters, but it was legible enough as I stepped back to assess my inscription. I laughed so loudly I thought I might start a tumble of rocks down onto my head which would be a strenuous bit of self-induced inconvenience – not that I was unfamiliar with such circumstances, unfortunately. I sat back and began to wonder just who the hell I thought would even see such a thing. Well, who knows? There are always intrepid explorers. There are the David Talbot’s of the world who might come upon my little gesture and wonder if it was the work of a group of drunken college students or maybe just some drunken fan of the books or movies … but no, I thought as I studied it in silence. They wouldn’t have penned it as I’d done, and there I found satisfaction in thinking that if anyone ever did find these words, they would be curious enough to research the matter. They might come to question the discovery: Oh, the veracious little mystery… they would come to imagine and even to believe and yes indeed, how that made me smile.


	3. Breeching The Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat reaches out once more to a long time Internet love.

**Lestat**

**Breeching The Void**

Several nights later, I was relaxing on the terrace in Italy. The weather differed greatly and I missed the warmth and humidity but the tradeoff was that I sat in familiar environs once again and felt a sense of homecoming. The new owners hadn’t made too many changes, but then they didn’t seem like the sort of couple that would spend weekends at the closest home improvement store followed by hours of do-it-yourself labor. When I sold the villa to them, I stressed that the lower rooms, which in American parlance might have been called a cellar, were to be left untouched and locked in case I was ever in the area and, how did I put it, “in need of some… protection”, yes. Surely, a man of his nature could understand that such occurrences came about from time to time, and it was agreed that the cellar would remain intact and held for me alone. It’s laughable really, for no mortal hands could have moved the locks and barriers set in place on the door, but there were always modern wrecking machines and the thought of my lovely room being smashed in caused a wave of anger within me, even if I was only imagining the act. They were far from sparse, as cellars go. The rough stone walls were unfinished, but as the room stretched out beneath the whole home, there was soft carpeting, plush furnishing – who else but me would have a velvet sofa in a basement eh? Further along, in a cut down area, a media room with all the modern technology I could want, and we won’t spend much time discussing my sleeping accoutrements, because baby, that’s where you’ll find extravagance. To put it mildly, it is a cellar fit for a King, or at least a lowly and long dead French Lord.

I had walked through each of the rooms upon my arrival, snooping like a common party guest. Of course it was more a fascination for mortal effects than curiosity. I wanted to imagine them as they went about their days and nights in this place; as they laughed and swore and made love; as they lived. I found nothing out of the ordinary, though I could feel that recently there had been a sudden assault in the largest of rooms above my own. I could still smell the acrid release of adrenalin, the burnt coldness of the gunshots, and the traces of mortal blood on the floor, though the lady of the house seemed to have developed a talent for eliminating such inconvenient messes. It was a good skill to acquire.

To be back in a familiar place and feel familiar things, yes, that was nice. Vescovado Square was always quiet when I ventured out in the small hours of the morning, and I felt somehow that if the populace could know that there was a

centuries old, fairly famous vampire in their midst, they would have been strangely grateful. At times, I felt like some archaic protector – an icon of possibility. Yes, I liked that title very well and stood on the roof of the cathedral to look out over the sleepy little scene. Rest well, villagers, your hero has returned.

Somewhere to the North there was a young man going about his night without even the idea that such egotistical fantasies were taking place and that his favorite vampire was close by and would soon appear to him as he shambled along the back streets of Rome. I leapt from the roof and watched a group of young men as they stood perhaps a straight block away. Their lightly inebriated laughter accompanied chatter about a wedding and insinuations of the carnal pleasures to be had as a husband. It made me smile and as I turned to head along the road toward the sea, my thoughts turned toward Tristan and how we’d come to be so much more than the story of an impish, sensual mortal and his online fetish.

The rise of the Internet and social media is a story within a story to use a popular phrase: It is the perfect haven for those who want to be known yet retain their mystery. After the unscrupulous film left my image and history smudged and twisted, I felt a certain obligation to grab hold of the technology and use it as a wider platform than my brief and shining rockstar career could ever provide. Our website had actually been running for a few years and held a pretty large audience, but until that film, I was far more casual with my participation. I suppose in that, I owe the producers a degree of gratitude for the impetus to get off my ass and reclaim at least some of the social applause I deserved. At any rate, I would engage in the online equivalent of twenty questions with mortals, and in time came to find a strange enjoyment in answering their inquiries on everything from what brand of toothpaste I used (Aquafresh, currently) to what it was like to live in nineteenth century Paris (cold and damp). There were insightful conversations and luckily few whack-job nutcases among the participants – and then there were those very few souls that truly nestled in as close as the Internet – and my own boundaries would allow. I found myself surprised by the affection and care that rose for these few who I came to call friends. I would look forward to a sit-down at the computer and find myself from time to time wondering about their activities or things we had discussed. My dear Louis watched all this with some amusement and caution, but even he was not immune from the allure of digital socialization and on occasion I would find him in a chat with someone or another, though by far he revealed and taunted far less. For me, it was at times, a delicious game, but I would remind myself that there were real people on the other side of the screen, with real and far too delicate mortal hearts. Most of the time, when I felt myself getting off on the naïveté and posturing of those who most often themselves were only getting off on the idea that they were speaking with ‘that vampire’ they’d read about or seen on film, I would find a reason to disconnect, figuratively and literally. Fortunately, when someone as distracting as Louis is present, it is nothing at all to click the little button that shuts off the computer and go on to more tangibly entertaining activities.

But for the few that became friends – it was always something more. I was amazed that through nothing more than words on a screen, we came to find humor, compassion, empathy and so much more for one another. We were worlds apart, in distance and circumstance, but in the digital ether, we were one:

Perhaps that is at once the magic and heartbreak of the web.

Tristan lived in Italy, which fascinated me from the start of course and led to many discussions on locales and events and over time, which made me long to see the country again. Unfortunately most of my travels to Venice had something to do with Armand, who still resided nearby on the Isle of Crevan.

To skip forward in the tale, one night I simply decided I was going there without prelude or hesitation, to introduce myself to Tristan in the flesh.

The first time I saw him was almost the last, but let me arrive at the reason in time. The night began as I woke and stretched out in the oversized hotel bed. For a few seconds I’d felt disoriented and reached for Louis, but of course he was in New Orleans, blissfully asleep and untouched by the anger that had boiled beneath his calm exterior when I’d announced my plans. I sat up in a tangle of sheets and thought of him and how despite my actions, he and everyone else knew that there was no stronger love than what I felt for Louis. I had almost given up trying to figure out why I was so careless with our relationship. It wasn’t that I took him for granted, or maybe… I don’t know. What I did know was that he would be waiting for me when I decided it was time to go home, and that was more than enough to put a smile on my face as I got out of bed. There was a costumed affair in Tivoli and I knew he would be there from a little chat we’d had the night before. Had I told him I was in town? Now what fun would that be for either of us? As a matter of fact, he’d been discussing this party online for weeks now, and casually, I’d commented on what he might wear or what character he might assume. Wouldn’t that be convenient for me? Yes, alright, maybe I had been planning to meet him there all along, who cares?

What matters is that night had come, and so I found myself in a casually mingled mortal crowd. Not everyone wore costumes, so I was certainly not out of place in some of the designer clothing I’d picked out shortly after my arrival. From the first time I traveled to Italy, my closet has been selectively stocked with perfectly tailored suits, shirts, pants and a fine array of shoes. People can argue what they like about modern Italy in terms of politics and economy, but the talent to outfit a human body with the finest materials is unmatched.

I stood near a small fountain on the far edge of the lawn where a tall, anorexic brunette tried to interest me in conversation as I scanned the crowd mentally but also from behind a new pair of light amber-toned shades. I thought I heard the girl say something about pencils, but when I looked, she was chatting with another girl about Mehndi hand painting, illustrating it with an ink pen and talking about stencils: Needless to say, I was utterly disengaged and decided to move on.

Just as I started to cross the lawn, I felt him. The inner voice that I hear and so often ignore told me to look up, and when I did I saw a vision: There was a long staircase that wound alongside the grand home, and it would have been in the shadows if it were not for festive amber lamps that shone onto the steps to safely light the way. There he was, at first paused on the top step. I could sense that he felt he’d forgotten something and should turn around, but instead, he continued down, and the lights hit his hair and threw off a glow of auburn that in my witness, seemed to be almost a halo. The costume he wore could have transported him back more centuries than I'd seen on this earth, but it was no cheap frat party toga. He wore draped, impeccably white linens, wrapped in what could only be a belt of the finest braided gold. In his hair, the obligatory laurel wreath, also inter-braided with gold. Yes, there and then the light hit him, and I staggered to a nearby corner of the house where I propped myself to watch as he met another young man at the bottom of the steps. They laughed easily in conversation, and finally clasped one another in a brief embrace before Tristan moved out of my sight and into the house while the other young man walked off into the darkness.

That inner voice.

There. You’ve seen him. Go home now, Lestat.

As if I’d listen to that advice. Whoever programmed that voice needed to take a lesson.

I could have followed and called out to him, but I felt that it was not the time, not here at this event. No, I wanted the moment to be exclusive. It was enough that I’d seen him, and his beauty was captivating. In that amber light he had looked like Adonis alive, and to think – he didn’t even know I was there. Within several minutes, he reappeared and stood under the portico as if waiting for someone. The light breeze blew the thin material and revealed his lean, youthful thighs and I licked my lips quite consciously as I stared. Mm, yes – there was definitely an unspoken promise in his body and I knew it was one I intended to discover. The young man he’d spoken to before reappeared and Tristan handed him a small package. They chatted for a few minutes longer before heading back up the golden-lit steps together.

I saw him no more that night, but that was likely for the best. I retired to my hotel and tried to call Louis, but it went to his voicemail and I felt that was intentional, for as one would suspect he was not happy with my current pursuits – not because he was opposed to my meeting Tristan or any mortal for that matter. After all, he had met Brian by chance in a New York bookstore and practically given him a map to our townhouse. He argued that it was different, but in my opinion it was simply a variation on a theme.

Two nights later, I dressed in a loose cotton shirt with long, flowing sleeves. I paired it with maroon colored pants that clung tightly in all the right places, and oh, the finest new pair of shoes. The detailed stitching and workmanship of the supple leather seemed sinfully employed upon my feet. I slipped on rose tinted glasses and checked myself in the mirror and grabbed my leather coat before heading down to the front desk. The matron at the desk affirmed the appeal of my wardrobe with a wink of her eye.

What were my plans? Surely there are those who believe that I walk out into each night with designated goals, but most often the opposite is true. Tonight, there was no greater goal than to catch his scent on the wind, to peer into his world and announce myself. As I drove toward Rome, I thought of the exchanges I’d shared online with Tristan and how we had come to have what I considered a true friendship – or as much of a friendship as can be held across and ocean and miles of fiber optic cable. I realized the possibility that when he saw me, it could well be too much to process, it might be beyond the capabilities of mortal reason… but there was something intangible that assured me he wouldn’t stand frozen or lose his mind. I told myself that if I had any suspicions of madness, I wouldn’t be here in the first place to pursue such a meeting. I thought too of home, of Louis, and how incensed he’d been when I announced my plans toward such an end. Of course he wasn’t one to fly into a rage, but the stony silence on the opposite end of that spectrum was equally telling and I was certain that once I’d physically departed, there were objects and souls in the city that had paid a price for my actions. I would take care of my beloved and reassure him, for no one should doubt the love I feel and have felt for him since those first hours so very long ago. For now, I had to get this out of my system.

I arrived in Rome and left the car with a hotel valet. I would stay at least through the following day and had left strict instructions in advance along with financial motivation for the staff to ensure the room was prepared for my needs. While admiring the intricate architecture of the building I appeared no different than any other tourist, overwhelmed by the flourish of the ancient city. I moved across the street from the hotel to sit on a bench and pass the time just like that typical tourist – people watching.

Oh yes, I was people watching: My senses were on high alert. In a flat not far away he sat with four other mortals. These were close friends – an older boy, one Tristan might call his best friend, his girlfriend who could have been on the cover of Vogue, a younger girl only slightly less attractive, and a child – the younger brother of the girlfriend. Tristan’s eyes turned toward the window as he felt… something unnamed. The night was young and so I sat and watched the passersby and hotel guests, and waited for their party to unwind. Now and then, I would deliberately wiggle into the place behind Tristan’s eyes and feel the hint of intoxication and the timbre of his laughter. From where I sat in stillness, I was his hand as it gave a toy to the child; I was his mouth enjoying a plate of pasta with hearty Bolognese sauce.

Understand we do this – it is a skill of the Gift, and one that in certain moments I quite enjoy, however in this instance, I lingered to the point that I also felt him become aware not of me there as a presence, but of not feeling well as he told his friends. I slipped out of his mind but remained observant to the room. The others gathered and distributed their warm embraces before they headed out to their own residences, leaving Tristan exhausted on his small couch. He felt as though he’d had far too much to drink, but the few glasses of wine over dinner were insignificant. The pasta hardened on the dishes as he fought the threat of expelling the delicious meal. He craved silence and darkness as his head throbbed.

It was time to act.

I could have landed on the wide ledge beneath his window and entered his rooms in the fashion of a thief, but instead I paused only briefly under the portico before heading up the main stairs into the hallway that divided the apartments. From the various rooms the scents of mortal life assaulted me: blood, sex, fear, pain and grief… the girl in 7A was in the middle of a miscarriage, while on the floor above, a grandmother was in the last hours of life, her lungs filled with cancer. Human frailty hung like a fog in the air and I shook it off as I stood outside his door. Should I knock and do things properly? Hello, it’s just me, that vampire from the books you’ve read come to nibble on your neck. I gave a short laugh. Was that my intention? I allowed that it might be a possibility as I turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

He lay sprawled on the cushions with the light of the street casting white lines across his face. The room was silent but for the whir of the ceiling fan and the faint hum of the icebox. Here was the point where I must decide to turn away or proceed. A gust of wind came through the open window and he stirred with mumbled words, and in that instant the longing to touch him was so great I knew there would be no turning away. Yet I did not wish to frighten him now or ever, so I called in his dreams. I planted pictures of myself which brought to mind an interrogation room: An innocent and frightened mortal with photographs shoved to him across a table: Do you know this man? I quickly shifted to images of Tristan at his computer, of our conversations brought to life. I whispered his name aloud in the darkness.

“…Le,” He turned in his sleep toward where I stood and then drifted once more.

Yes, Tristan. I’ve come for you.

He bolted awake, so loudly did my thought penetrate. His eyes were wild and searched the shadows where I remained with a shake of my head; I should have done this differently.

“Who’s there?” He demanded. Stumbling, he stood and searched the area for some defense. An iron for the fireplace was a suitable choice, and he brandished it ahead of his cautious steps. For an instant he felt foolishly caught by his dreams. The room appeared empty until I deliberately moved my hand against the wall and caused him to jump.

“Tristan,” I said quietly. “Do not be afraid.”

“Who is it? Who’s here?” He demanded as he stood there shirtless in the middle of the room, his stance ready for assault.

What more could I do? I flipped the switch on one of the table lamps, and stepped back without a word. As he stood tall, his jaw dropped slack. I moved more into the middle of the room and offered a soft smile and my hand in a gesture classic to our kind, an elegant, palm-upward turn that is meant to say no harm is intended or perhaps offer an invitation, or both.

“This can’t be,” He muttered. “I’m dreaming still.”

“I assure you, you’re wide awake. Don’t be frightened. I should have advised you I know.” What a thing to say. “I should have made arrangements for a better meeting. I’m sorry.”

“But you’re…” The iron fell from his hand and hit the floor with a loud clang.

“I’m very much here.”

He stood there, daft. I reached and took his hand in mine. He recoiled only slightly at the coolness but his wary eyes never left my face. Within those eyes were glints of gold, and his full lips quivered slightly with unformed questions.

“I wanted to come, to meet you in the flesh. I understand it must be incomprehensible but at last, we’re seeing one another off the screen. If we go no further than this moment that is your decision, Tristan. I wanted you to know, to…”

“… to see,” He stepped closer to me and moved his hands to my face which I allowed with some surprise. Though he was not without fear, he was far more entranced by the surreal appearance of my skin. He came very close to touch my hair; I could feel his breath in my ear. “I’ve longed to see you all this time, and my

God, you’re here. It is impossible.”

“Improbable.” I half corrected. “When we last wrote to one another, I resolved to find you and make myself known.”

“But why me?” He stepped back farther until without choice he fell upon the couch. To see him so reclined, almost invitingly, was a temptation. The lean rise and fall of his chest, the musculature of youth and oh let’s not forget, the sweet pulse beneath it all that called to my every sense.

“Why not you, Tristan?” I answered with a small chuckle. “You’re intelligent, attractive, bratty at times – now why wouldn’t I want to meet someone like that?”

“Lestat.” He said my name for the first time and relinquished a smile as he sat upright. “I never thought we would really meet.” “And yet, here we are.” “Here we are.” He echoed.

I sat opposite of him in a comfortable chair, and we eased into a conversation of how and why and I answered a barrage of questions with uncharacteristic patience. His eyes moved over me and though I did not speak of such things aloud, surely more than once I imbued his vision with images of more intimate, wordless communication. I could not help such thoughts – I mean the boy was sensuality personified, though for the time being he was without guile and intent to demonstrate the fact.

Night passed toward morning, and with a nod to the small clock above his stove, I stood. It was time for me to head back to the hotel and secure myself against the sunrise.

“This is it then? You’re heading back to New Orleans?” He stood and came to me without hesitation. Dear brave one, how I wanted him.

“No, as I told you, I’m staying in Ravello.” Of course in the hours that had passed his poor mind had been filled and overflowed with details and unimaginable possibilities.

“Can I come?”

“To the villa there?” I paused with the thought.

“Anything I have here can do without me for a time. Say that I can.”

At the door, I hesitated as I thought it over and with a smile assured him that I would return just past sunset the next evening. By then perhaps he would have changed his mind and with a bit of forethought, decided it to be a most dangerous request. I made no promises and expected none in return, but as he came so close, as he touched my face and whispered a goodbye, I knew that both would be rendered soon enough.


	4. Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Lestat's anticipation at meeting Tristan again.

Lestat

Anticipation

Since then, over the span of a decade or more, Tristan and I have been everything inside and outside of what would conventionally be labeled as friends. We have shared intimacies. Should I detail them with lascivious detail? There is a greater tale to be told, so table your lust for now and I’ll do the same. It can be done you know.

Tristan and I maintained our contact with one another after I left Italy that first time. We took full advantage of technology and through e-mail, instant messages and various web residences, had what might be termed a very modern long-distance relationship and I would argue with anyone who dared to say it was less simply because we were not physically together.

As for my other relationship, I can attest to the fact that my beloved Louis was not at all happy that I had trotted off to meet young Tristan without a second thought. He was more than accustomed to my whims, what he often called my ‘mercurial nature’, but in no way did he condone it or find it amusing. I came to learn that shortly after I left for Italy, Louis – calm and composed Louis, had an episode of well, losing his shit, to put it bluntly. Oh how I wish I’d been there to see it because believe me he is freakishly sexy when he erupts in such a fashion. I’ve rarely seen his wrath, but from what he told me later with much reluctance, he fairly went into the nether parts of our city, famished and growling and oh, dined like a monstrous prince.

Things had gone well upon my return although there were the typical few nights of not quite sitting well. Louis and I have been together for so long, like an old married couple in the sense that we put up with one another’s nonsense and move around it until the dust settles and we’re once more able to wipe it away and see the love. Once the luster had returned, we again settled into that oddly domestic routine, sprinkled with charitable events and premieres, home purchases, renovation and sales, rainy nights of reading to one another, firestorms of lovemaking, and oh yes, those necessary predatory excursions. Some things never changed. We went away on vacation to the tropics, and I fell in love with him all over again. I think at times he believes I’m simply making another excuse or trying to get out of some thing or another when I say such things to or about him. I’ll admit to being a “spin master” with a fully stocked library of excuses, but when I say that there are times I fall completely, helplessly in love with him as I did that first time, it is perhaps more honest than ninety percent of what leaves my mouth. Why does this happen? I don’t know. It happens for mortal couples, does it? He and I will be going along in a spell of normalcy – though anyone can judge that word in reference to the life of a vampire couple – and one night, I’ll look at him and just be overcome with that warm, melting feeling and I find myself wanting to do everything for him, be everything for him, woo him, adore him, pamper him all over again. Now isn’t that romantic? Ppsht. Don’t think less of me for such fawning. I’m still the most famous badass in town.

On that tropical vacation, where was it again? Mustique, yes, such a beautiful place. Always there was a slim wish that I could see such splendor in the midday sun, the palms blowing in the breeze over the blue-lit ocean while the seabirds dive and soar. I have the same wish when I am in Italy, for my home on a cliffside has a spectacular view. Modern technology offers a means to capture the beauty of the sea with cameras so that I might fill the television screen with high definition images of the Mediterranean. In the islands we had no such cameras to capture the daylight, but being with Louis in the warm, moonlit sea will forever carry its own resolution in my mind. Like a snap one night there, I looked at him and decided we would have what is labeled a “commitment ceremony” when we returned to New Orleans – and that’s just what we did, with everyone in sublime costumes from our old era. For quite some time after that, our bliss remained.

And then the restlessness that may forever plague my soul returned so strongly like a deep pain in my side. It was in fact an unnamable tumor with ruinous prognosis. My Louis - I saw the hurt in his eyes, I felt the need in that last minute embrace that begged me to stay but I turned away at last, left our home and left him, my most beloved.

I wandered, I learned, I meditated, and after a time, I return. Rinse, repeat: Dust settled, love returned, and what did I do? I left again! I think I need medication and I’ve said for many years that myself and likely every immortal needs a good psychiatrist.

There had been Tibet, Honduras, and now Italy.

Ravello: Where I had come with Lucas. Where that mortal boy and I had shared magic and secrets, where I’d watched him as he grew into himself, mastered complicated recipes and delved into higher education. Now… Lucas was gone forever.

And Tristan was only hours away.


	5. The Interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat gets back together with Tristan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: If you are reading this series and come across unfamiliar names, feel free to send an IM - otherwise, you can look at Livejournal Community "IndulgentRed" or IndulgentRed2" for backstory/tags.

Tristan

The Interim

"Pay no attention to me." I wiped the sweat away from my eyes. "Please just tell her to carry on as if I was not even here."

The young girl wagged her head as Rahul, my colleague, translated the request for me into the local vernacular. I smiled and took few steps forward checking the light exposure and basically waiting for her to get used to my intrusion. It seemed to work. She hesitated on the doorstep of the hut and then, as if obeying an unspoken urge of self-consciousness, she delicately adjusted the fresh flowers adorning the full length of her braid, finally granting the fleeting perfection of a pure, unaffected gesture.

I moved closer and took a deep breath in, welcoming within me the unique blend of jasmine and coconut oil, the scent of her, the beauty of her enormous, intelligent eyes.

"There," I lovingly confided to the thick tropical breeze clinging to our clothes and skin as I captured her profile in a sequence of imperishable black and white shots. "Mine forever." The girl looked away biting her lips and then, with a swift movement, she pulled one end of her cotton saree over her face.

"All right," I lowered my Pentax with a sigh. "What did I do wrong this time?"

"Welcome to rural India." Rahul laughed and shook his luscious mass of ebony curls. "This girl has probably never seen a camera in her entire life, let alone a camera held barely an inch away from her very nose by a gora. It's a lot to process all at once."

"A gora?"

"Well, you know, a white guy. A foreigner?" Rahul shrugged and lifted his delicate chin. "I mean, your very presence here is kind of epic for these people."

I turned around and met the scrutinizing gaze of a congregation of curious villagers sitting under the shade of a large mango tree. One of the children just stared at me with his little mouth wide open.

"Ok, fine. I get the picture." I then noticed that the girl's shoulders were shaking.

"Is she crying? Christ, tell her I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Crying?" Rahul cut me quite unceremoniously short and laughed even harder. "Tristan, she's literally giggling all her pretty glass bangles off!"

The turn of expression was an overstatement, of course. However, to a certain and indeed lucky extent, Rahul was right and I couldn't have been more relieved by the whole impromptu Indian village little comedy scene. One of the girl's eye re-emerged from the pleats of the saree and darted in my direction.

"She says she's terribly sorry." Sniggering Rahul ever so kindly explained. "But you moved so close that she thought you seriously meant to father a child with her in front of the entire village."

Hysterical laughter from everywhere.

"My genuine apologies." I glared at Rahul and then smiled to the girl placing a hand on my heart. "Will she ever forgive my audacity?" She regaled me with the loveliest frown ever and then, pressing the palm onto her mouth to conceal her amusement, she vanished into the hut. I stood there with the Pentax hanging from my hand. India could be such hard work.

After two weeks spent roaming from village to village, chasing endless inspiration and sporadic but all the more so inestimable fulfillment, it took me a long time to adjust to the claustrophobic confinement of the hotel room. Above my head the ceiling fan rattled its full agony delivering little to no relief at all. The filthy mattress underneath my body reeked of tropical heaviness and of the exhaustion of all those who had writhed on it before my turn. In the uncomfortable stillness, as the day died beyond the rotting bars of the room only window, I lay breathing in the dampness, the lull and the scents of the city street below. I reached for the dusty rucksack on the floor and pulled the Pentax out of the side pocket. As soon as the digital screen came to life, the images of my search across India chased the darkness and some of the languor away. There were a fair number of exceptional shots, the kind of personal achievement I usually preserve for my exclusive pleasure and fruition only or that I gratefully entrust to those whom I come to love. The rest, I was willing and compelled to trade in exchange of the suitable amount of money and praise, something my agency has so far never failed to reward me with. I paused on the portrait of the old temple priest's gnarled leathery fingers delivering the sacred ash of the God Shiva to a devotee.

"This is probably one of my very favorites." I reached out and my hand met the generous warmth of the body resting close beside me. He stirred and pulled me into his arms until my head rested comfortably on his shoulder.

"So you keep saying." I turned and let my mouth deliver the rest of the sentence over the lovely two days beard growth roughness of his jaw. "Any relevant reason other than a latent tribute to my work?"

He conceded with a low affectionate laugh and took the camera from my hand. "You know, it might well be selected to represent the entire project. Make sure you take few nice pictures for me once it goes viral all over the illustrious walls back in downtown Rome, accha?"

“Accha." Ok, I replied, teasing him with my worst hindi accent attempt. "However, this does not answer the question. Why do -you- like it?" I felt his chest rising and falling underneath my cheek.

"Remember how we were then invited to sit with the priest on the temple tank steps for a chat?"

"I do." I smiled. "And I can already tell this is all heading to yet another uberdevotional rapture of yours.”

"Of course it is, silly. And stop acting as if you didn't like the sound of it." He lifted my chin and brushed my lips with the softest kiss. "I have seen all this precious skepticism melting away from your eyes as you listened to that old man's lecture."

Much to my chagrin, he was right. I had avidly examined the canonical texts and the treatises pertaining the Non-Dualistic principle as it has been revealed to the world by the compassionate intellect of India's most imminent saints and philosophers, but I could never quite reconcile their fascinating 'All is One' theories with the perpetual fragmentation I then punctually found convulsing all around and deep within me. Besides I always believed that there is beauty to be savored even in the darkest hour of chaos, which kind of made of me an unrepentant nihilist.It was not until I saw the toothless smile abiding upon the old temple priest's face that I became aware, as he spoke to me, that man was not addressing a stranger but he was rather greeting -that- which made us all one, indissoluble and eternal.

"Infinity is unending. It never therefore began. Infinity being boundless, it cannot have an outside. There is therefore no question of a second infinity. It is, therefore, one without a second. Infinity therefore has no antonyms. When there is no outside, no inside is warranted. Infinity is without parts or contents. When there are no parts, no separation is generated. Thus, infinity is spacelessness: As space and time go hand in hand, infinity is timelessness too. Infinity is thus fullness or completeness; nothing is there to add to it; nothing can be taken out from it; no outside agency can exist that can do the addition or subtraction. Infinity alone remains." As the revelation still reverberated within me, I found myself smiling and wondering whether Aristotle and later on good old Plotinus had ever realized they were in fact both ardent Hindu mystics.

"I'll agree by saying that it was indeed destined to remain quite a remarkable day." I gave my lover a side-glance. "At least until, after we took our leave from the temple, you decided to drag me into that creepy soothsayer's den, remember?"

"Well, I'll beg to differ here." He lazily curled his fingers around my hair. "Judging from the perplexed look he had on his face, I'd rather say that it was you who scared the shit out of that poor man, Tristan." We both laughed recalling the moment when the thick-spectacled astrologer had vaticinated a sinister and inescapable course of events lurking behind some dark corner of my future.

"Speaking of which," Rahul freed himself from my embrace and rose from the bed. "I've got something for you."

"Is it goodbye time already?" I smiled following his slender figure across the room. I knew it was. It was my last night in India and my plane was leaving in less than two hours.

"Come here." He gave a little, solemn nod. "You don't need to believe in it or anything. But I want you to wear this." I stood up and watched his fingers tying a thin black thread around my hips.

"And I should do as you say because-"

"Because I say so?" He finished fastening the last knot.

"Now really, Rahul." I checked my now Hindu thread-adorned naked self in the wall mirror near the door noticing for the first time in weeks just how much weight I had lost. He sighed and then gently claimed my mouth with one last kiss.

"It's a protection to ward off the evil eye. An amulet if you prefer."

"Because of what the astrologer said?" I ran my thumb under the cotton thread. "Ah come on, just speak the truth and confess this is a love spell for impressionable goras."

"Very well, I'll confess then." He placed his hand on my head. "When the day comes, may this bring you back safely to India and to me."

Several hours and possibly even more flight connections later, Rahul was gone. So was India and our comradeship made of work, of friendship and of tenderness. As I sat on the plane taking me back to Rome, his scent still lingered in my hair, indulgent and yet compelling. Just like the blessing he had secretly whispered across my forehead before we parted. Discreet and yet unyielding. Just like the act of unconditional kindness Rahul Prasad had secured around my waist.


	6. A Roman Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan returns to his home city of Rome and gets a most unexpected phone call.

Tristan

Roman Return

How could anyone genuinely ever miss the endemic urban arrogance, the exasperating scooters pandemonium, darting under the majestic shade of the omnipresent Mediterranean pine trees, like hordes of angry bullets through the perpetually congested streets? How could anyone endowed with a molecule of sympathy yearn for the heartbroken tourists-infested solitude of the Palatine in all its solemn putrescence?

Still, as my taxi travelled over the Ponte Sublicio, I had to ridicule my rather poor cynical attempts and admit that yes, no matter the innumerable failures, coming home to Rome always felt magnificent.  

I stretched my legs a little to dig up the phone from the side pocket of my irretrievably ruined green BDU pants and searched for the contact I was looking for. The heavy traffic came to a stop and I turned my gaze out of the car window to pay an intimate homage to the once revered god of keys, doors and livestock, the no longer immortal Portunus, and to the vestiges of his temple resisting time and oblivion and still tenaciously clinging to the most ancient heart of Rome, the Forum Boarium, at the very feet of the Aventine hill.

"Cristo Dio, Tristan!”

"Sabina,” I acknowledged my beloved friend’s loud and genuine laughter while gracing the cab driver's brief inspection through the rear mirror with a smile. "Guess where I am?"

"How about ‘you better be back in town from your trip and you better drag your vagabond ass right here as quickly as possible’?"

"Incidentally enough, that’s a somewhat feasible plan.” I laughed picturing the animated gestures that, at the other end of the line, were predictably accompanying Sabina’s instigations. “Ten minutes or so?"

"Make it faster, bello. Tullio is working on his Carbonara here. You don't want to miss that, do you?"

Of course I didn’t. After my extensive Sub-Indian vagabondage, there was hardly anything I craved more passionately than the company of good old friends, a bottle or two of Vermentino and Tullio’s legendary culinary skills.

Around noon I was climbing the familiar staircase leading to Sabina and Tullio’s apartment beautifully located in the Jewish ghetto with the de rigueur bunch of freshly purchased peonies tucked under my arm. I found the door ajar and as soon as I pushed it open and stepped into the luminous open-space serving both as functional kitchen, dining room and lounge, Tullio promptly deserted the chopping board, wiped his fingers down the front of his jeans and rushed to pull me into his arms.

“Come here, you horrid gypsy!” He held me tight as his hand dispensed my back with one or two rather powerful affectionate smacks. “Had enough of your aimless wandering?”

I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring the familiar blend of tobacco and musk, the scent of him, my friend and comrade. My Tullio. “Enough for the moment, yes.” I gently pulled away from him and pushed all my bags against the bookshelf. “Besides I was missing your cooking quite atrociously.”

“Well, I can see that.” He frowned in an almost comical grimacing attempt while his eyes mercilessly scanned the undeniably rough state I successfully managed to gain after months and months of relentless peregrinations. “Jesus, Tristan, you’re so fucking thin that if I had hugged you any harder a minute ago

I’m sure I would have cracked a few bones.”

Ah, the hopeless hyperbolism we Italians do so love to treat ourselves with in our often overly dramatic statements. I shook my head and entrusted the peonies into his hands. “Now, since you’re so kindly concerned about my famished self; let’s quit the preliminaries, put these flowers in a pretty vase and go back slaving over that Carbonara. I’m positively starving.” I caught the noise of bare feet hurrying up behind me and before I could even turn around or form her name, Sabina crushed herself against me. We held each other for a long silent moment until I sensed the urgency of her fingers brushing the hair away from my face.

“I don’t want to miss you like this ever again, you hear me, Tristan La Roche?” The deep green of her eyes vibrated rich and full and her tender reproach simply made it impossible for me to let her go.

“I hear you. And I love you.” I pressed my smiling lips upon the softness of her cheek. “Can I have my keys back now? I could kill for a shower.“

“Later.“She took my hand and together we moved toward the large kitchen table. “If you loved me as you always so carelessly claim you would have written more often. So shut up. Sit. Eat. I want to hear everything about goddamned India.”

Three hours, two generous Carbonara helpings and several glasses of wine later, I kissed Sabina and Tullio, promising to see them again the following day for an early aperitivo and took my leave. The colors, the dust, the electricity of India were still cruising through my senses as I walked my way home through the narrow alleys of the old ghetto and I occasionally brushed the walls of the dark buildings with hesitant fingers as if looking for a mark, a seal, a forgotten memory or humbly trying to summon the courage to acknowledge all that had happened when, in a not yet too remote era, insanity ruled this part of the world and people here and elsewhere in Europe were dragged out of their ordinary lives, away from their houses, from their belongings, from their own dignity to be mass obliterated.

There are stories in the ghetto of those who, incapable of measuring the bottomless abyss of human ferocity, had left their keys over the lintel of their doors hoping one day to return home.

As I stepped into the darkness of the precarious passage running under the somber remains of the Portico of Octavia, I thought of Emperor Augustus and of the consternation he might have experienced if someone could have ever predicted that one day the magnificent monument he had gifted his beloved sister with would one day had served as the grotesque theatre for such human horrors and in the end would have rotted away lost in its own agony. Out of the one thousand and twenty two people who had been deported, only fifteen Roman Jews, fourteen men, a woman and none of the two hundred children, came back from Auschwitz at the end of the war.

And I often wonder what happened to all those keys left eternally waiting.

**********

One month has passed since my return and all I seemed to do and crave for was spending most of my time printing digital slides or processing negative films into black and white photographs which were then left hanging in the studio to complete their metamorphosis from the realm of intuition into tangible and hopefully marketable manifestations.

Some of them were then further hand-manipulated through the application of random strokes of water and pigments solutions, the occasional scalpel incursion or the addition of unorthodox materials such as wrinkled bus and train tickets, fragments of prismatic glass bangles, dead temple flowers, psychedelic Indian visiting cards, frayed portions of clothes, ripped sections of advertisement flyers and Hindi newspapers to name a few. Some approved my idiosyncrasy; Others found it disturbing. Either way I was glad no one seemed to rank my work as mainstream. I’ve always been happy and indeed free to quite simply leave conventions to those who didn’t want to or simply couldn’t intellectually as well as financially afford some blessed risk and the occasional artistic heartbreak. “Who is this?”I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my inkstained hand and looked up at Sabina as she entered the studio in a pretty yellow vintage dress and tilted her head to study one of the last compositions left to dry on the floor: Deep unfathomable eyes, rich dark curls and that roguish smile I had come to miss: my own secret tribute to Rahul Prasad.

And yet I shrugged Sabina’s question off hoping to dismiss the whole issue and go back to my business. “An Indian friend.” I simply adduced.

“I see,” She leaned forward until the long copper side braid fell from her shoulder. “Yet another broken heart, most certainly.”

I arched my brow and dipped the tip of the brush into the jar of solvent.

“Why would you even consider we were at any point more than just friends? You know Sabi, you and your base assumptions will end up making me feel like some cheap slut one of these days.” I said trying to conceal my own amusement from her. “And I just can tell you would rather enjoy that.”

“I know your patterns, love.” She came to the desk and smirked down at me. “You don’t breed this kind of portraying skills unless there’s some good allowance for sex involved.”

“Hm, I wonder if this is supposed to sound as some sort of veiled proposal from your part?”

“Yeah, keep on wishing, Tris.” She groaned. “Are you going to frame your

‘friend’?”

“No frame, same as for the others. India cannot be restrained.” I studied the mild disappointment on her face and frowned a little. “You disapprove?”

She turned back to look at Rahul once more and shrugged. “I don’t know about the rest of India but this guy is hot.” She sighed. “I say he deserves a frame.”

“Well, I’m delighted by the unannounced visit and consultation.” I stretched both arms above my head and completed the gesture with a little and yet unequivocal yawn. “But you see, it kind of turns out that, as the author of every single image you see in this room, I get to pronounce the last and indeed sacrosanct word when it comes to radical decisions such as ‘to frame’ or ‘not to frame’. I’d say it should not be too hard to accept.”

She merely stared at me with one of her positively best blank expressions ever. “Tristan?” “Yes.”

“Well, guess what: it’s fuck this shit o’clock and I think we already had our fair share of chemical fumes and neurotic fuss in general.” She gave me an unimpressed look. “So let’s call it a day and get out of here before we both forget how a lady is expected to behave, yes?” I stood up and crossed the studio toward the dark room door.

“Later, Sabi. I want to process the last negatives and-”

“Sorry, wrong answer. All you want is some fresh Roman air and a lovely chalice of prosecco to flush the inner bitch away.” She chirped and grabbed my shirt to pull me away before I could even reach the developing bath trays. “The rest can and will have to wait, my love. As it always does.”

*********

In the end, as I lay alone in my apartment after yet another night of inebriation and excess, I was finally ready to concede that Sabina was right: She was right about me being often petulant and capricious and, most of all, she was right about Rahul. I had woken up to the sound of running water and risen from the bed of our hotel to find Rahul occupied with his ablutions. It had fascinated me the way his hands moved over his body with meticulous, smooth skillfulness. I loved the way his cinnamon skin glistened under myriads of garlands of water beads. He had turned back and asked me if I was ok. Once he had weighed the look in my eyes he had laughed and stood up to face my intrusion.

“Anything I can do for you, Sir?” He had run his fingers through the wet mass of his hair.

“There are plenty of things I can think of. But here,” I'd moved forward to hand him a towel. “Make sure you wipe your lovely self nice and dry while we discuss the details.”

Rahul had stepped out of the shower to comply with my instructions. I'd reached for his cheek and as soon as our eyes had met we both knew what was coming next. He'd put up very little resistance when I had pinned him down to the mattress and when, at last, he'd lifted his hips to let the urgency of his need throb under my weight, I had tightened the coercion around both his wrists.

“Patience, my friend.” I'd smiled down at him. “Let’s make this last a little longer this time.”

“Tristan, please…” He'd whispered as soon as his hands had successfully struggled for freedom and had moved down my abdomen to diligently unbutton my thin cotton pants. “I want you to…” His fist had closed tight around me and I had to bite my lower lip lost to the sensation.

“Yes, I can see what you want.” I had pushed my hips against his grip. “But first let me show you how tempting the view looks from this angle.” Without really thinking about the implications, I'd reached out for the camera on the low side table and set about to immortalize the moment. Rahul had seemed to enjoy our game as much as me, and, as his fingers slowly coaxed us both, he'd silently approved to pose for several priceless close ups. In the end, he had rewarded me with the most gratifying glare which I turned into the portrait Sabina so passionately insisted deserved a frame. I would have loved to see the expression on her face upon finding out all the prolonged and indeed skillful maneuvers behind Rahul’s enigmatic smile.

As I contentedly surrendered myself to a swelling tide of exhaustion, the sporadic buzz of the cars speeding along Via dei Serpenti, the shadows of the bedroom as well as my senses gently drifted away. Fragments of memories mingling with random images and thoughts coiled behind my eyes until my consciousness glided into a vaporous dream.

I was walking through an empty room and there was someone calling my name in soft whispers from the dark end of the place. Upon moving the first incautious step, I suddenly realized I was standing on a carpet of broken mirrors. One sharp glass fragment slashed the skin of my left foot and I started to bleed. Yet the intermittent reverberation of a bell above me claimed all my alertness. As my body seemed to lose substance and started to ascend heavenwards, the room, the broken mirrors, the blood, the bell, all vanished and I, still far from being completely awake, finally realized the all too real nature of the ringing sound.

I reached for the phone with a groan.

“Tristan?”

That voice… It just could not be. This I told myself while struggling to regain lucidity. “Who, who is this?”

“It’s your favorite creature of the night, of course.”

“Lestat.” I uttered his name and I could almost feel the richness of his blond hair running through my fingers again.


	7. The Penitent ~ Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan discusses a departure to Ravello, Italy with his long time friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive formatting issues please. This as a collaborative effort involved much formatting effort and then a lovely hard drive crash, salvaging work and more reformatting. Corrections have been made where observed, but if there are formatting issues that interfere with reading, please IM so we know. Thanks :)

Tristan

The Penitent ~ Part One

Since receiving Lestat’s call, the cadence of my emotions had ranged from exhilaration to an almost fearful anticipation. There was no question that everything within me would return to him in Ravello. I’d have traveled to Istanbul had he called from there or anywhere else in the world; The fact that he was mere hours from Rome was an utter distraction that did not go unnoticed by those who knew me best. Though only weeks had passed since my return from India, I struggled to with a feasible explanation as to why I would be leaving once again.

“What happened to our lads-only weekend away in Corchiano?”

Tullio’s voice pulled me back within the eclectic interior of one of our favorite bars, the former garage and perpetually crowded ‘Freni e Frizioni’ on the riverside of Trastevere. All I could do to offer my friend some kind of amend was to stir a rather weak smile and a consonantly abstract glance as I rose from the table to order a second round.

“Bear with me,” I turned back pondering my words carefully. “Remember that business in Naples? Good. Well, it cannot be postponed, I’m afraid.”

“So when are you leaving?”

I knew where this was heading to but I had very little choice other than playing along as much as circumstances and caution allowed. “Thursday morning.” I disclosed with some reluctance and walked toward the counter.

“Where’s the problem?” He asked as soon as I returned to him. “Surely it won’t take you more than a few hours to meet the owner of that new gallery and head back to Rome the same day. That will still leave plenty of time to organize our expedition.”

"I doubt so, Tullio." I handled him his drink. “I won’t come back from Naples straight away.”He took a quick sip and then arched his brow.

“Why not? Am I missing some crucial piece of information here?” I gave him a long uncertain smile. “There’s… something I need to care for in

Ravello and, right now, it’s rather impossible to anticipate how long it will take.”

“Let me guess.” He leaned over the table with a smirk on his face. “Has this ‘something’ got anything to do with one of your latest conquests? Please, don’t tell me it’s the brunette we met the other night at that party.”

“What about her, Tullio? I’ve found her rather enjoyable.” I looked at him half amused. “And so did you, if memory serves me right.”

“Her ass was, yes, but the rest of her? Hardly worth a second helping, I’m sure.”

“That’s what I’d call an unnecessary comment.” I laughed. “However, no. The above mentioned and indeed unjustly discredited brunette is not the reason behind my little sabbatical in Ravello.” Tullio watched my fingers hesitate around the rim of my already half empty glass.

“Fine, Tristan. I can tell you are simply not going to reveal anything more on the subject, am I right?”

“To be quite honest with you,” I averted my eyes. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.” I felt his gaze upon me as I knocked down what was left of my drink.

“You know,” He snorted. “Now I remember the last time I’ve seen you so tense.” I carefully placed the glass down on the table. “What are you talking about?”

He then lifted his drink and gave me a knowing smirk. “It was when you fell desperately in love with that Spanish model, don’t try to deny it. What was his name again?”

“Ah fuck off, Tullio.” I shook my head and sighed. “As if after the emotional cataclysm I’d gone through and dragged both you and Sabi right into you could ever forget what his name was.”

“Whatever, it’s all past now, is it not? I'd rather want to talk about who’s in you present." He shrugged. "Tell me who’s the lucky one this time, sì?”

I glared at him unable to understand whether I wanted to give him a rude answer or whether I needed to kiss him. After all these years Tullio’s ability to see right through me still left me utterly speechless.


	8. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat and Tristan finally reunite and neither is surprised that the passion is undiminished.

**Lestat & Tristan **

**Reunion**

Understandably, I had wanted to call him and announce that I was once again in his proximity and yet I hesitated. All this time, he’d had my number and my email address and there had been no contact in two years. Of course in immortal terms, twenty-four months was a nanosecond. Still, I paused to wonder if I should intrude on the life he now knew. Here is where you say, “But Lestat, weren’t you able to just look through his eyes and see what he was doing at any time?” and I do love the ideas mortals have about our abilities, but it isn’t quite that cut and dried. To peer inside a mortal mind is something more, like a meditation, yet it is very often instantaneous and without effort; A glancing blow you could say, a dip, in and out. It isn’t as if we possess the body and go along for the ride. Well, ahem, not usually. What I did know from those little dips I had taken into his thoughts was that he had traveled far and wide and since the time of our initial meeting, grown from a relative innocent into a wiser, more cultivated young man. The thought of knowledge and worldliness being married with his already curious and sensual nature was more than enough to excite me, and to urge my fingers to dial his number. He came on the line, groggy-voiced, and I looked at the clock on the kitchen wall to see it read two in the morning.

“Tristan,” I said with a smile that surely translated in my tone.

“Who, who is this?”

I heard rustling and imagined his head turning on the pillow, his hair soft and warm; his body scented with sleep. “It’s your favorite creature of the night, of course.” I whispered.

“Lestat.” He confirmed, half of it said in a yawn.

“The one and only.” I walked over to the windows that looked over the cliff and out onto the darkened sea. Thunder rolled in the distance. “Sorry to call at this hour. Are you free to talk?”

“I’m alone if that’s what you mean. What, I mean, where are you?”

“That’s why I’m calling. I’m back in Ravello.”

“You are?” With that, he was understandably more awake. “Since when? Are you staying for long?”

“Did that grab your attention?” I laughed as lightening filled the sky. “I haven’t made any plans. I suppose it depends on your availability.”

“Oh Lestat, you knew before you even called that I would clear my calendar.” He was fully awake, his voice warm and inviting, and I wanted to see him immediately. Hell, let’s be honest: I wanted to do a lot more than see him. “Listen, Thursday I actually have something to do in Naples. I won’t be finished until somewhere around seven, so why don’t I just pack a few things and come to you afterward?”

Come to me, he said: Not come to Ravello, not come to the house, but to me. How could I argue the context? Thursday was three nights away, less than a nanosecond for me, but a nanosecond which would be filled with fantasies of our reunion. “Thursday, yes,” I conceded, and after a bit of brief banter, hung up. I hadn’t asked why there had been no call or contact in the interim. I knew enough that allowing him his mortal freedom was necessary, and I also knew as he suggested, that with one call I could have him back by my side. Should the feeling arise where he felt guilty and in need of punishment, I was certain to be able to meter it well, and that thought left me licking my lips in anticipation.  

When the designated night arrived I went to find sustenance shortly after I woke – this was essentially for Tristan’s safety. For three nights I had imagined him in my arms, imagined his musky mortal scent, and savored the imagined taste of him in my mouth. The four or five women in Salerno that felt my kiss that night sated my hunger enough to ensure I wouldn’t dangerously drain anyone else, even in the heat of passion. Since my mortal youth when I was insatiably curious with just about every girl and boy in and around my village, I’ve had a tendency to become blinded by lust. An undertow is the perfect analogy, and I willingly and deliriously tumble along, smashed and breathless. I would have it no other way, and in fact feel trembling moments of pity for those who know nothing of such appetence.

When at last he came up the walk, I met him halfway. He sat his bags down and we paused to look one another over with mutually pleased expressions, before moving into a tight embrace.

“You look so good, Tristan.” I said with another once-over. “Your travels have served you well. Come and tell me all about them, won’t you?” I carried two of his bags, and he grabbed the remaining one and came behind me.

“Me? You, Lestat…” He laughed. “My God, but you are a sight for sore eyes.”

“Oh now if your eyes are sore, then maybe you should lie down and close them.” I said teasing him as I stepped onto the terrace and set the bags under the canopy by the back door.

“I might not close them all night.” He had come up on my heels and when I turned, he was in my arms. He stared at me, his breath quieting. “So beautiful…” He ran his fingertips over my face, lost in wonder. “Has it really been so long since I’ve seen your face?”

“Too long.” I answered with a smile that kissed each finger as it passed over my lips. He crushed himself to me, and I lowered my face to smell the endless summer scent of his hair, as his body seemed to mold to my own. His arms pulled me close, and for many long moments I knew even without dipping into his mind, that feeling of never wanting to let go. It was an element of that undertow, and I

knew it well. Still, I moved out of his embrace. If I let it go too far at this early juncture, we’d do nothing but well, stay in my bed for the foreseeable future, and while that was tempting, I did want to catch up and truly had an interest in hearing about the many stops on his itinerary. I ran my fingers back through his hair and kissed him on the forehead. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

Once he’d settled his bags in one of the upper bedrooms, he came down to the rooms beneath the house, my sanctuary. He had changed into more casual clothing, a pair of loose khaki pants that barely clung to his hips and a white tank top over which there was a well-worn plaid shirt. With his shaggy black hair that wantonly flipped and waved, he might have been an Abercrombie model if not for the innate, daring intelligence in his hazel eyes. Again I fought the urge to rise, tackle him and pin him to the couch for a good old fashioned grope. I watched him approach me and knew that he knew the effect he had on me, and as the saying goes, he knew I knew he knew – but what a delicious game it could be at times.

We sat together as he filled me in on the details of his time in India which of course fascinated me and compelled me to share the mystery of Khetsun and what I had experienced. We were both amused at this particular synchronicity of events in the time since we’d seen one another. He had spent time in Spain, which I knew of topically via vague hints and traces of him online at the time and too, the lover he’d had there briefly took it upon himself to boast to others knowing it would get back to me. How could I hate him for trumpeting about such things I had already experienced?

I turned beside him on the couch and pulled him into my arms. With his eyes locked on mine, he took it farther and climbed up to straddle my lap and wrap his arms around my neck. Ah, those lips, those full, inviting lips so close to mine and then yes, pressed there, asking for more. In the time I’d known him, there was little subtlety to this boy: There was urgency, there was need, there was yes, yes, fuck me right here in the street, there was pain and pride and demanding selfishness. How on earth could I refuse? In between breathless kisses he worked my waistband with finesse until I was exposed for those talented hands to touch and coax, but he could not stop there and soon to my delight, the heat of his own arousal moved against mine while he practically tore off my shirt. I quieted him long enough to slip out of it in one piece – ruining a new Ferretti custom was a crime, even if a crime of passion.

“Lestat,” He moved against me, nudging and insisting with his lips and teeth just below my ear. I pushed the shirt from his shoulders and bit him just above his collarbone. When I heard that moan, that little gasp of pain escape him, it was nearly enough to make me climax against his body but then came his blood, full into my mouth and I forgot everything. I drank in deep swallows, seeing him, seeing lust and tasting all, from the dirt streets of southern India to the Moorish gardens of Alcazar. He leaned against me, weaker, his lips in the same place against my throat. Breathless and dazed, I lifted from him and felt the sweet tremble as his blood moved through me. His eyes caught mine a moment before I winced and gouged my thumb nail deep into my neck and further, cutting a jagged line downward as the blood began to flow. Without hesitation, he drank.  

This was not the first time we’d shared such an exchange. In the time before, when we’d initially met in Italy, we’d had such moments where each of us succumbed to the urge and ventured to a plateau where caution was cast over the edge without a second thought. That first time… “Lestat no,” he’d said, as he tried to resist, as he thought to call that caution back if he could, but it was too late. I had already drunk from him and his resolve was weakened. He had laid his lips to my wrist, tentatively, surely overcome by the surreal invitation, but incapable of refusal. How well I knew the moment, the hesitancy and the shocking waves of rapture that followed.

Now these many years later we moved together, clothes half-removed, bodies hard and urgent. He pulled at the wound and dipped his tongue for a greater pull before it could close. Oh, the electricity then as he grabbed a handful of my hair and snarled against my flesh. He tore his lips away and smashed them against mine. I could taste my blood and he could taste his own as our tongues clashed in a wicked duel. He pressed, I turned and we lay long and bare to move against one another until he could no longer hold back. He stiffened in my embrace, his breath caught and with an almost painful moan, he climaxed. A pool of wetness spread between us, upward onto my abdomen and yes, sinful boy, oh delicious devil he knew me so well. He pulled himself away and soon, his fingers met my lips and brought the taste of his release, saline and warm. He gave a low, satisfied laugh as he joined those fingers with his mouth, relishing the taste of our reunion. “Damn you.” He said and collapsed against my chest.

I stroked his hair and breathed deeply to quiet my own arousal, and in doing so felt him grow calm. His breathing slowed and if I hadn’t been able to sense his thoughts, stoked by the fever of my blood, I might have thought him to be asleep. I spoke his name softly and he reached up to caress my shoulder, maybe to tell me he was still awake.

“We can go lie down if you like.” I suggested. He didn’t reply and I understood that fatigue had invaded him entirely; He was drunk on a cocktail of exhaustion, blood and sex. With ease, I moved out from under his body. As I stood, he rolled over on the couch and mumbled incoherently. I laughed and kicked my pants all the way off, thinking it had been a long time since I’d engaged in a half-clothed make out session. I left those lying by the couch before lifting him into my arms and heading for the bedroom where he’d left his luggage. The room was immaculately and invitingly ready for a guest at any time, and so I lay him on the large, soft bed, climbed in behind him and pulled the thick comforter up around us. The night was still young and there would be time to shower and eat if he wished. For now, he was coming around slowly, and I wasn’t surprised when he sat up, startled.

“Tristan, you’re here with me.” I sat up and pulled him close. “You just drifted off for a while, you’re alright.” He looked at me for a moment as if I were a stranger who’d abducted him.

“Lestat.” He sighed with relief. “It has been so long since I tasted… since I… My God, I think I was out of my body there for a while.”

I wasn’t sure if he was serious or facetious so I said nothing. I knew that such a thing was definitely possible and if there were ever a list of causal agents for an OBE, immortal blood would be there. I lay back down, pulling him with me. As he nestled into my side he gave an abrupt laugh, then another, and finally he was giggling so hard he couldn’t talk as he rolled off of me and onto his own pillows. Finally, he paused and held up a finger to pause my questions until he collected himself.

“I was just picturing us there on the couch.” He chuckled again. “I didn’t really intend to get off that way, and seeing it in my head it was just funny.”

He turned toward me and as much as I could manage while half on my side, I shrugged and gave him a sheepish grin. “Better than not getting off at all, right?”

He laughed again. “Right.”

My laughter grew with his and soon we were shaking the bed with our amusement rather than our passion, but it felt just as good if not better and I

could think of nothing else behind or ahead. A voice in the back of my mind, Khetsun’s spirit perhaps, whispered that this was a different degree of the mindfulness I’d studied and at least tried to practice. As Tristan settled next to me once more I listened for that voice again and thought it had been something momentarily darker than the whispers of my departed guru, but my imagination was proven fanciful and so I shook it off and let myself doze in oblivious pleasure


	9. Holy Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat and Tristan explore sacred places, on and with one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration drawn from the oversized, magnificent book "Italian Frescoes" 
> 
> http://www.amazon.com/Italian-Frescoes-The-Baroque-1600-1800/dp/0789209365/ref=pd_sim_b_5
> 
> Do yourself a favor and buy this or get it from your library.

Lestat

Holy Places

Nights passed, weeks led into months, and Tristan and I spent most of it together. He had a proper flat in Rome, though it was barely large enough for one person. On a few occasions when he’d played tour guide to me, we’d spent most of the night in his rooms and then like a man who must get out before the spouse comes home, I would exit via his window and head back to the darkness and security of my room at the villa. Given that Tristan had become quite a good photographer and more importantly had an inheritance to keep him afloat, he had no obligations to work on a regular basis. As such, I insisted that he stay with me more often and my sunrise escapes were no more. He sold enlarged, framed pictures to restaurants for their walls, to galleries that begged him to hold a private show, to private collectors, to doctor’s offices… to anyone that by word of mouth decided they must have a TLR Original. Now, as I sat on my couch and listened to him sing (quite well) in the shower, I looked at the two black and white shots that hung on the wall. In one, a woman in India, weathered and wrinkled held one hand to her face in apparent agony. One of her eyes was turned forever toward heaven, and every time I looked at her, I wondered why, with all the people in the background, she was so anguished. Had someone just given her bad news? Was she exhausted from life? Did she just learn the vendor in the marketplace ran out of her favorite peppers? I had asked Tristan about her, but he always gave a vague smile and no other answer. That was the beauty of it too because every single time I saw the picture, I wondered and loved her anew.

We spent hour upon hour discussing his travels, the people he’d met and philosophies he’d discussed with them. He shared an extensive collection of digital photos with me, most notably of Meenakshi Amman Temple in Southern India. The tall towers fascinated me with their intricate depictions of painted Gods, animals and demons. When I referred to them as towers, Tristan gently referred to them as gopurams – that was easy for me to say. He pointed out Ganesh, the elephant God in the Mukuruny Vinayakar. Many of the Indian words cause my poor French tongue to tangle until he laughed and if possible, translated whatever it was into something I could manage without sounding like an idiot. Our nights were filled with conversations. For one thing, I pried about his lover in Spain and he averted my questions. I supposed I was better off not knowing and there were more pleasant occupations. We shopped in the little tourist markets, and he cooked elaborate Italian-Indian fusions that boggled my mind and my nose. We took long drives to the shore and paid for passage to the nearby islands where we swam in the moonlit sea before yes, hour upon hour of physical love. It was different than our first time together in Italy which had been more tentative and frankly, hot and to the point. Those first few times we were together, once he’d learned how to relax his body and take me in… Ahem, well, at least one hotel called my attorney about the damage left behind. Tristan still liked things rougher than most lovers I’d known and our passion often took me by surprise but this time, there was a… a knowing about our intimacy. It wasn’t just his knowing that I was there for him or vice versa, it was… it was the sweet sanguine exchange. We made love almost every night and when we did it usually became twice a night. – I told you he had strong appetites. Nearly as often, he drank from me: Just little sips in torrid kisses, but there were those clashes, those climactic heights where the vision of lustful nirvana on the horizon eclipsed reason, and as he begged, growled and bit at my skin, I tore my flesh and pulled his mouth to the wound. He would lick and sip at the flow and the sight… the sight of him as he pulled away, his body spent in climax and his mouth bloodied… I was transported physically and mentally. I would collapse, equally wasted against his warmth.

When he stayed at the villa, he slept in a room a floor above me, and most often by the time I woke, he was making himself something to eat, watching television, or reading on the terrace. The boy could devour books as greedily as he cleaned a plate of tabouleh and tahini sauce, and I loved that about him. Sometimes I would find him lingering in bed listening to music or idly reading a magazine or if I was lucky, still sound asleep. I would crawl in beside him and before he stirred, that soft mortal scent, the slumber-rich, dream-tinged electricity of his body was mine undisturbed. I would caress him, down along his side, over the thin cotton rope he wore low on his hips. He told me about his companion who had presented the gift, and if I felt jealousy it was only for wanting to be there in the room with them during their quiet talks. He called it a sutra, which at first I didn’t comprehend, for a Sutra was an aphoristic text meant to be studied, a teaching in verse form. Tristan later informed me that the word literally translates as a thread that holds things together, from the word sew. I in turn informed him that once in a while I can be a bit dense, but come through when it counts depending on who you ask.

Our local forays were a bit more complicated due to my daytime restrictions. Of course there were always locks to be picked in the darkness and I rarely stopped to consider the guards on duty at the various museums but I did have to admit that modern technology made it more challenging and yet, technology was out to defeat itself because the grand bazzar of the Internet allowed for many such purchases. There were gadgets to stun security cameras and fool fingerprint readers and so much similar paraphernalia that yes by God, I could carry on like Indiana Jones or perhaps in Italian that would be Indiani Jonesi. Either way, while I didn’t have a suitcase full of such toys along for our nighttime tours, I had enough to ensure that our visit would go undetected by cameras; As for the mortal guards, they were pathetically easy to incapacitate if the need arose. Now don’t think me horrid – I mean only a gentle sleep brought about by a sharp kiss he’d never remember in the morning.

This is what I would have to do when we entered Saint Ignatius. It was on my must see list, but closed to the public just as the sun was setting. It may seem strange that I’d even want to lump myself into a mortal tour group, but the thought of seeing the throngs with their devoted hearts and tear filled eyes beneath and beside the glorious art and architecture might make it worth the trouble. In the end it was my own impassioned descriptions of similar places we’d toured such as the Basilique Santa Maria della Steccata in Parma that made him convince me I was no match for the glory of Saint Ignatius. Given my reactions the night I had let myself into Il Gesu and beheld the souls tumbling out of Gaulli’s vault fresco, I was well prepared to be on my knees with an awestruck heart.

The place was older than even my years and that alone evoked a reverence as we stood across from the worn façade. Despite my confidence that guards and cameras could be easily conquered, I was almost afraid to enter. Other such places I’d seen with him and with Lucas as well were enough to leave even me speechless and weeping. Best of all, oh, imagine to have such places with no jabbering, camera flashing tourists and then to be able at will, to leap or levitate to the heights and see in detail the very brushstrokes Michelangelo laid forth? As we stood there, Tristan took a call on his cell and I remembered the way I could still faintly smell the pigment and egg of the paint he’d used in the Sistine Chapel.

I had stood nose to nose with the pious souls gathered in the painted works of

Perugino and Signorelli. I had stared for what seemed like hours at The Last Judgment: Those souls ascending to heaven, hadn’t I seen them with my own eyes? Yet they had seemed more like the blended stream of faces and forms as rendered by William Blake. There was not this perfection of hopefuls in the realms I had visited with the grand fallen angel by my side. I said to myself that there was no way such immeasurable talent could have existed then or now. Sometimes I liked to think they were all aliens from a far off galaxy who came during the Renaissance and Baroque periods to inhabit mortal bodies and fill our world with art that would leave us all speechless and weeping for centuries.

“Lestat?” His voice beside me, his hand in mine. “Are you ready?”

I came back to myself and nodded. “I think so, yes.”

We went to the side entrance of the church and I set about loosening the tumblers in the lock. I had given Tristan the camera flash device and in one skilled shot, the laser had rendered the thing useless. Once inside, we looked for essentially placed cameras and did the same. We couldn’t know where every electronic eye was placed, but so what? Even if the Police arrived we would not be caught. Louis and David and indeed most others in my immortal family would call such bravado foolish, but to me, it was nothing more than confidence. I could leap and fly to the sky before anyone knew just what they’d seen. In that instant, Tristan and I could be gone and laughing about it miles above their heads so why should I care?

At last, we stood along the left corridor. The walls were adorned in an explosion of Baroque magnificence, with lapis lazuli, alabaster, semi-precious stones, all manner of colored marble, gilded bronze, and silver plate. We came upon the marble altarpiece; The Della Valle depiction of the Annunciation, replete with Bracci’s angels. How could I not touch those timeless, frozen cherubs? Surely my actions were vehemently against policy, but how often did an immortal visit the facilities? Everyone would agree that I certainly liked to believe I deserved certain entitlements. As we moved along, I sensed Tristan’s amazement of the place only degrees less than my own but he seemed more fascinated to observe the effects as they seeped into my mind. I was already transfixed by Pozzo’s artwork until I felt Tristan pull my sleeve with a sense of urgency.

“Someone’s coming,” He said. His eyes were wide as a schoolboy’s about to get caught in the middle of some petty crime.

“Here, come with me now. Stand here, in the shadow of this column, pressed tight against the stone.” I pulled him close, guiding him in the ways familiar to our kind as a clever means of making mortals think they saw something, then being not so sure.

A portly man in a starched uniform passed by and we slowly moved as he moved, circling around the pilaster, shielded by the shadows thrown upward in the dim, reverently lit corridor. He whistled to himself and I heard Tristan in his mind urge me to go out and confront the guard, to do as I’d said and incapacitate the man for a time so we might explore freely. In response, I looked at him in a softly scolding manner and mentally asked him where the fun was in letting the man off so easily? ‘You’re terrible’ he voiced in his head. ‘And you love it’ I voiced back with smile on my face. We watched him stroll off toward the farthest rear of the place before we stepped out into the main transept. On either side, elaborately decorated tombs held long departed Saints and above us, the all too human faces painted so long ago by Pozzo’s students gazed at us questioningly. Side by side, we moved toward the nave soon stood beneath the false cupola. It was no surprise that it fooled so many for the trompe l’oeil was so true to detail that it seemed no less authentic than that in the Basilica or Sant’ Andrea Della Valle. We stood on an elaborate disc set into a marble floor polished like an ice rink and craned our necks back to take in the illusion. Only steps away waited the grand fresco, Pozzo’s masterpiece; the entire church was a testament to his talent but the grandiose depiction of Ignatius rising into paradise was his opus. We moved beneath the masterpiece and slowly turned in a circle to take it in as a whole. The allegorical figures on each side portrayed the four continents opened in receptive joy. There were angels everywhere, fat and thin, black and white, beckoning, welcoming the pious Ignacio home.

Awestruck, I stood, lost to the images and what I knew of the man’s legend. I had read that he’d joined the army at the tender age of seventeen and strode around with his cape wide open over his tight fitted uniform to reveal his sword and dagger; In modern parlance, he had swagger.

I looked at Tristan who, while appreciative of the beautiful works surrounding us had not let go of his nervousness. We hadn’t seen the guard reappear, partially because I’d slipped inside his mind and insisted that he could sneak away for a meal since the place was obviously secure.

“Take my hand,” I said. “Hold on tightly, and wrap your arm around my waist.”

“Why?” He looked around. “Wait, what? You mean we’re going to go up there?” He looked toward the illuminated expanse.

“Most definitely.” I assured him with a wide smile. “I see no signs in the hands of those angels or planted on any cloud telling us to keep out. Paradise is to be explored, si?”

“Well, I …”

“Hold on.” I grabbed his hand firmly and felt his arm circle tight against my back. I concentrated and lifted us slow above the floor. We’d never shared this aspect of my immortality and I could feel that he was equally frightened and thrilled. “Look up and don’t think about anything.” I instructed as we rose toward the ceiling.

“Easy for you to say!” His eyes fixed on the clouds above that seemed indeed to part for our ascent.

I held him tightly and placed a kiss on the warmth of his temple. “What I mean is, believe only that this is the normal thing to do, and it becomes such. Om tat sat, right?” I laughed gently against his face and with that, gave focus to one last ascent and suddenly we were there among the angels and heavenly escorts.

“Oh Lestat,” I heard Tristan’s voice more in my head than aloud. His free hand extended as we hovered just below the throne of the worthy Saint. “They’re so beautiful.”

We moved closer. I could see long, sweeping brushstrokes in every robe and fluttering sash; the subtleties of color in the clouds held us as if we were floating in an impossible dawn toward the hand of Christ as he cleaved to the cross.

Tristan’s hand reached…

“Yes,” I said in the stillness, and saw his fingers pressed to the offered palm of the Holy Father as I lay my hand upon the bare chest, above his most sacred heart.

“Sollevami, concedimi il tuo perdono…”” Tears ran freely over his cheeks and well did I understand what it was to not only be flooded with the images but here among them, the power and impression upon one’s mind and soul could not be contained. He touched the large angel to his right, seeming for a second to stroke her perfect hair. I felt my own tears well forth, and then impossibly, Tristan’s lips collecting them as if they were alms before the Savior’s eyes. “Basta... No more. I cannot bear this joy.”

Slowly I thought of the word: Down… and so came our descent. I could not help but to linger in front of the golden cauldron filled with Divine Love as Pozzo had painted. I pressed my hand there as well to let it soak deep within my soul, through me, into Tristan and back again.

“Lestat?”

I looked to him and saw that he looked not just overwhelmed but almost ill. We set down onto solid ground and I moved him into the closest pew. He closed his eyes and breathed meditatively for several minutes as I sat beside him and tried to look at every corner of the ceiling fresco but I could have stared all night and still been at a loss. He leaned against me and I felt his strength returning.

“Go on, I know you want to see more. I’ll wait for you here.” He said with a smile. I kissed him gently at first, then more deeply. There was something, an aura about him or something more I could not put into words that could have brought damnable tears to my eyes in seconds, but he was correct to assume there was more I wished to behold here on our visit. I left him and went to the Eastern apse to examine the frescos behind and in the conch above the altar. Pozzo was a genius of the quadrature technique, and I rose to study the life and apotheosis triptych beginning with the siege at Pamplona that had led to the transformation of Ignatius. Gradually I moved upward toward the conch where he was shown healing the pestilent and as I hovered there, my hand on an insignia that read ‘Ego vobis Roma propitius ero’, I heard a commotion below.

When I looked downward, the well-fed guard had returned and spotted Tristan. His words began to rise and fall in melodic if urgent Italian and Tristan was backing away but giving the man a mouthful just the same. I bolted from the apse, and landed behind them on a wooden table set against the wall. It clattered and nearly broke in two as was my goal when I’d spotted it from the air. It caught the guard’s attention and his radio fell out of his hand and to the floor as he spun toward the noise. Further alarmed when he saw nothing, he moved toward Tristan and their duel of words recommenced. As I walked upon the man from the side his eyes grew wide and in the next second my young lover’s fist connected with his face in an upper cut between his cheekbone and jaw. I stopped in my tracks while the guard fell back like an aging boxer going down for the count. Tristan pulled his hand back and looked at me. He was as surprised by his actions as I was, and I went to his side.

“You brute!” I laughed softly. “What possessed you to do that?”

“He deserved it. I can’t really translate what he said, but it was beyond insulting” He said. “It was either that or watch as you broke his neck. At least we can get out of here now without him in the way.”

“I see.” I rolled my eyes. The guard was out cold on the floor. “Well, we can’t leave him here to wake up and explain that some sexy, uninvited imp punched him in the face.”

He beamed at that moniker while I gathered the man into my arms. Given his size it was an awkward task, but I soon laid him down on the closest bench along the wall. He roused somewhat, disoriented and muttering, asking what had happened. As Tristan came closer and looked over my shoulder I leaned against the man’s chest. My senses met the acrid tang of sweat, cigarettes and a grossly overworked heart that thrummed beneath his shirt. His name tag was loose and I examined it only for a moment.

“Hush now Vincenzo, you’re dreaming so sweetly.” I said as I pressed close to his face. “Do you see the angels? They’re calling to you.”

He moaned slightly and raised one arm toward the fresco.

“Ah, the angels. They’re singing so softly.” “Madre,” He whispered.

“Mama yes…” I encouraged. I slipped into his mind and was transported to a warm Italian home. His memories became my own and there was the kitchen from his childhood, replete with the fragrance of a good Bolognese sauce, he there on a stool beside the stove to sprinkle herbs into the pot. I closed my eyes and virtually felt her kiss upon his head, and when I saw through his mind once more, years forward, his beloved mama was not so spry and there were no more kisses but for the one he gave her as a final goodbye on her bed as the cold of autumn arrived.

I sank my teeth into his neck as these memories unfolded and from him took that little drink that would ensure forgetfulness. He cried out softly and I held him to me. Let him love me in that instant, for I loved his wounds and transformations just as I loved those of dear Ignatius. I heard Tristan draw in a breath but he and all I’d seen in this place seemed far away as I surrendered to the current of his blood.

When at last I raised my head, the man lay peacefully. For several seconds I was held by an ebbing euphoria and leaned toward Tristan as though I were a mortal friend who’d had one too many drinks. “Come on,” I said and took him by the arm. “Morning is not far off.” We left the way we’d entered via the side door and I did my best to reset the locks but exhaustion and intoxication moved me beyond care. There were few persons on the street and I paused for a moment against yet another ancient stone façade.

“Did you kill him?” He asked with soft incredulity.

“No reason to kill him. He’ll wake from the deepest sleep he’s had in years, and we’ll be nothing more than part of a long, flowing dream.” I said in a tired voice. “He’ll weep with the memory of his Tuscan home and how he ran once more through the tall green grass.” I smiled then, for as I drank from him I’d seen it as such outside the windows of that boyhood home. In that instant I had been removed to the hills of my own beloved Auvergne countryside.

“What part are we in such a splendid dream?” He wondered aloud as I stood and began to walk ahead toward where we’d left the car some blocks away.

“That’s easy. I’m the wolf that lurks in the shadows and you are the tender lamb I steal from his flock.”


	10. Res Ipsa Loquitur ~ Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat becomes more aware of Tristan's behaviors but cannot resist his charms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the common law of negligence, the doctrine of res ipsa loquitur (Latin for "the thing itself speaks") states that the elements of duty of care and breach can sometimes be inferred from the very nature of an accident or other outcome, even without direct evidence of how any defendant behaved.

Lestat

Res Ipsa Loquitur ~ Part One

We returned to the villa with an hour or so to spare before the sun drove me to the dark safety of my room. Tristan kicked his shoes off as we entered, sending one toward the couch. As we sat, he moved it out of the way and leaned against me. I let out a sigh; a mixture of contentment and wistfulness and wrapped him in my arms.

“You’re tired.” He said. “I can always feel it coming off you in waves.”

“It was a spectacular thing tonight.” I said little more, lost to the same silence of thought that had taken over as we had driven out of Rome. Like anyone might, I reviewed it all in my mind and while Saint Ignatius was impressive and intimidating to be sure, I couldn’t help but compare and contrast with its predecessor, Il Gesu. I had taken in the frescos there on a solo night visit, and I must confess that I could scarcely do more than lie on the floor under Gaulli’s vault fresco and weep. How could he – how could any of the artist’s know of these things they depicted with such ardent detail? This vampire, Yours Truly thank you, had visited such realms and yet these many years later even I could not quite believe any of it had happened. As I lay there looking up at the damned cast out by the same heavenly light that drew in the blessed, I had wondered if perhaps Baciccio and his ilk had met their own versions of Memnoch or if perhaps he had existed for them all those years before he sought to reveal such splendor and horror to me.

I shivered a little with the thought.

“I can’t believe I punched that guy.” He laughed, lost to far less serious thoughts.

“Quite unpredictable.” I tousled his hair. “That must be what attracts me to you.”

“Is that all?” He said and turned in my arms. “You’re sure it’s not more?”

I kissed him long and slow and felt his desire grow. His body tensed as he straddled my lap and bit at my lower lip. I held his hips with a different firmness that did not invite more.

“I don’t think I’ve ever known you to be too tired.” He teased.

“I have things on my mind, and morning is close. Most of the time when we begin our marathons, it’s quite early in the evening.”

“Ah, so come then, let me see you to your bed.”

“Really?” I rolled my eyes. “You think I’m going to fall for that innocent routine?”

“What?” He whined. “I just want to see you to a proper rest. That’s all.”

“Uh huh.” I followed him downstairs and regarded the invitation of my large, comfortable bed. How could I ever have slept in a coffin? I disrobed, and of course his hands were eager to assist. When I slipped under the cool sheets, he sat down in a chair near the bed. He did not speak those words that ran through his mind, but I heard them loud and clear. He crawled onto the bed and knelt beside me.

“Tristan please. You should go to your room.”

“Oh I will, once I’ve had something to help me sleep.” He moved astride my hips and leaned forward to leave a row of light kisses on my chest.

“I thought we agreed I was too tired.”

“Oh no, no…” He snorted. “You’re the one who said it. Not me.”

“But I am. Come on.” I lifted him off, but just as quickly he climbed back on.

“Tristan…”

“Just a taste?” He moved suggestively and despite exhaustion, my body stirred and he felt it beneath his thin pants. “Oh now, I won’t refuse that either, but that’s not what I’m asking for, Lestat.”

There was a fire in his eyes, a glint of sorts that I hadn’t quite noticed before. He reached into his pocket and removed that wicked little switchblade he seemed to carry everywhere. He claimed in the back streets of Rome he never knew when he may need such a weapon to fend off any kind of criminal if I weren’t by his side.

“Tristan, no.”

He flipped knife and deftly laid it in a slant across my breast. “Just a sip of that sweet fire, Lestat. You give it freely when your hardness is deep inside me, what difference does it make now?”

His eyes. I shook my head before the thought could form. “No. Now get off me and go to your room, or back to your flat.” He pressed the blade and I felt the slightest cut even as I grabbed his wrist roughly. “I said…. No.”

I leaned up with enough force to tumble him from my body and backward off the bed. He landed on the floor with a thud and sat up to glare at me. He uttered a soft laugh as he rose and shook his head, and I found his enmity strangely seductive, but it could well have been the undertow of sleep that pulled without care or counsel. I heard that laugh again, lighter perhaps as he left me and shut the doors upstairs. I could do nothing but surrender to blackness and think that when I saw him again we’d…

That chance did not come again for three nights. He didn’t come, and we didn’t call one another. I felt it was good for him to take a break, and if I was honest, I needed the same. Certainly I delighted in his mortal carnality, but there was cause for me to be concerned. I replayed it in my head, the way he’d looked as he asked for the blood. Had he asked? Hell, he’d fairly demanded it. I thought to myself that it warranted further observation – after all, it is good stuff that blood and who knows it better than me? Even for a vampire who drinks from another vampire, it’s good. That same intoxication hits us as if it were our first taste, the same electricity surges in our veins and while it does not necessarily hm, what is the word… devastate us as it does mortals, it is still a hell of a rush.

I told myself that all he needed was time away. Let him cool off and taste a good pasta fagioli instead of my flesh and he’d be fine. In those nights, I took advantage of the local flavors as well. I tried to restrain myself and focus on those with evil in their hearts but the truth was that near my home in the hills, there wasn’t much to be found. As a result, I let myself be seduced by two local beauties and while they tried their best to make a meal of me, I did the same. You could say that by the end of the game, they were depleted, figuratively and literally, what can I say?

On that third night, I sat on the terrace enjoying the moonlight and some classical music when I heard Tristan’s footsteps. He came up the path and faced me with a smile.

“You cut your hair.” I returned his pleasant expression. “It looks very nice.” “Does it make me look younger?” He asked on closer approach to my chair.

“Some, yes.” I rose and welcomed him with an embrace. “Why, is that your desired effect?”

“Maybe.” He shook his head and looked up at me. “You seem to like that, after all.” His smile was playful and knowing.

I thought back to his confession of being years younger than he’d initially claimed when we first met in person. Of course, such a thing did not bother me much in terms of our relationship or even overall, I supposed. It was the way of the ancient Greeks and even Romans, so who was I to argue? I kissed him punishingly. Damn him that he could enflame me with so little effort. When we separated, he stepped back to catch his breath.

“I’ve missed you.” He pulled me with him to a long chaise.

I sat beside him and stroked his leg where his loose pant leg rode up. “Time apart is good though, you know.”

“I wish I were wearing a Toga.” He said offhandedly. “I wish you were wearing one. Wouldn’t it be nice if it were still in the time that everyone dressed in such garments?”

“I suppose it would depend on where you lived. I wouldn’t want to wear a toga in the middle of winter if I had a foot of snow nipping at my ass.”

He laughed. “True, true. If we lived in a nice warm place though, and we wore clothing like that, I could sit here and just lift it up and there it would be for you to take advantage of, or vice-versa of course if you would be so kind to wear one for me.”

“Of course.” I nodded.

“Want to pretend I’m wearing one?” He laughed again. “I guess cargo pants aren’t quite the same.”

“Not really, no.” I stood halfway up from the chaise and he pulled on my arm.

“Lestat,” The look in his eyes was pleading and he leveraged himself from the chair and into my arms. “I need you. I want to make love… now. I have been so hungry for you.” He laughed almost derisively and continued. “I went to a club with some friends and wound up with a girl I’ve known for a long time. I doubt she’ll be speaking to me soon.”

Momentarily I saw them together, his attempt to take her as he might take me from behind, her resistance, his cruel demand. I wanted to see no more.

“Tristan, you have to be careful. The things we do with one another are not on par with anything a mortal is ready to experience.”

He turned from my embrace but let his hand collect mine and pull me inside the house. “You know I think about it sometimes, and it’s funny. I never thought

I’d meet you. We used to talk for hours, didn’t we?” “Yes, we did.” I had to smile in remembrance.

“But then we did meet. In a way that only you could manage, the void was breeched.”

“Well I don’t know about that. People meet online friends and lovers every day.” I offered as he led me downstairs to my room. I watched his hips move and wished he were wearing that toga.

“Oh, I suppose they do. I can be very naive.”

“Hardly.” I snorted. “You may however be an adept liar and con artist.”

“Well, one has to do what one has to do. My point is that no one has worked my body so well as you. You know exactly what I like, and always have. It isn’t vampire trickery. It is … what is it?” He turned and began to loosen the buttons on my shirt. “It is finesse. You know somehow, with your lovers, don’t you? You breathe in our scent and know just how we want you to fuck us, don’t you?”

His fingers were to my waist and swiftly he rid me of my pants. I kicked off my shoes and grabbed him. I ripped at his shirt and his delighted laughter only spurred me on. Yes, I knew. I knew he liked it hot and dirty. The only words he wanted during sex were those suitable for a bathroom wall in a fetid truck stop – and that was precisely what I gave him.

I tore his clothing away and pushed him against the wall forcefully. He reached around and pulled me to stand tight against him, my hardness begging for entry. Oh he thought it was going to be that easy, did he? I went to my knees and with a great show of my strength, slapped his ass hard enough to elicit a scream. Once the shock passed, he craned his neck to look down at me.

“Christ, Lestat.”

“Shut up.” I reached around and stroked him slowly. “You want to see what I know?”

He moaned as I roughly spread his legs and began to work my tongue against him, teasing, circling and pushing in and out while he suffered the pleasure. With my hand I pulled tight, encircling his length as it wept sweetly for more. He begged. That foul mouth of his urged me, dared me, and I slapped him even harder than before. Welts rose on his flesh and I licked them slowly, feeling them warm and swollen on my tongue.

At last I could bear it no more and stood up behind him. I grabbed his hips roughly and pulled him back as I ordered him to spread his legs. With one hand I

snagged a handful of his hair and with the other, I guided myself forward into his readiness. With a solid thrust, I claimed him and he let lose a stream of grateful profanity. Silence fell and there was no sound but lust and the slap of flesh on flesh. I pressed his face against the wall and he pushed his hands against the plaster so that I might drive into him with true force. I reached below and found his hand working toward release. A sharp, swift cuff of my hand caught him there and while his hand fell away, he cried out. I ground my hips against him a second later. Pain then pleasure… this is what I knew he wanted. I held his cock firmly and worked it in time with my penetration as if it were my need that went clear though and into my hand.

Soon enough, I heard the telltale catch of his breath, a sudden inhale, a stuttered release. He braced against the wall and urged us toward that moment. As it hit me, I bit into his shoulder and that sent him over the edge. He let go, pulsed in my hand and coated the wall with his climax. Spent, he lifted away from the hard surface and leaned back against me, saying my name over and over. I slid my tongue along his shoulder to heal the wound; I let him feel my exit, slow and deliberate from his tightness then pulled his head back with my fingers laced into his curls. Against his cheek I spoke, my voice deep and more accented as it tends to be in such moments.

“On your knees, Tristan.” I pulled his hair tighter and guided him as he complied. I pushed him toward the wall. “Clean it up.” I ordered. He looked up and gave me a slow, questioning look that led into a knowing smile. I raised my eyebrows only slightly and twitched the corner of my lips as I stepped back. “Now.” I said, and knelt down beside to watch. He located and slowly lapped away each strand he’d left on the wall, but his eyes never left me.

“I know what you like, precious boy. I always have. I always will.” I said as I leaned close. I smelled his sweat, his semen and his blood. His right eye was slightly swollen from where it had been pressed into the stucco; a cut above his brow trickled a thin red line onto his cheek. I felt a characteristic half-smirk creep over my lips as I stood up and headed for the shower.

Behind me, he moaned and leant against the wall. He was properly relieved, weakened and hungry. What perfect conditions for round number two, I said aloud as the hot water pelted my skin. There was something to be said for reveling in my own badness – I once described myself as a perfect fiend and all these years later, it was still gloriously true.


	11. The Penitent ~ Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan and Lestat attend a concert

Tristan

The Penitent ~ Part Two

The moment my eyes had filled with the magnificent vision of Lestat walking toward me on the night of our reunion I could only cast any trace of trepidation aside. Indeed since my arrival in Ravello all restlessness had dissolved and I had no desire left within me other than surrendering to the intimacy Lestat and I impetuously demanded and reaped from one another night after night.I gazed out at the breathtaking view, letting the rich helichrysum scent from the surrounding hills fill my lungs and the dark infiniteness of the sea below soothe my senses, until I felt the sensuous electricity of Lestat’s mind-touch caressing my solitary reverie.

“Missing me already?”My eyes parted from the enchanting view below as I turned back to welcome him.

“Perpetually and indeed quite excruciatingly so, Lestat, as I’m sure you can predict all too well.”

I offered him a rather daring smile despite the impact of his ultramarine gaze threatened to leave me breathless. “Going somewhere tonight?” I then advanced while admiring the impeccably pressed light linen shirt completed by the almost indecently flattering dark jeans he was wearing. “You look absolutely stunning.” With impossibly fluid movements, he moved closer and reached out to tuck a few undisciplined curls behind my ear. The slow smile he regaled me with revealed that, yes, he’d unmistakably perceived the delicious shiver the cool touch of his fingers propelled throughout my entire body.

“I am. And since you’re going to accompany me,” He glanced at my chronic Tshirt and plain baggy cargo pants dress code. “I’d say tonight we might attempt something slightly more adventurous for a change, sì?”

“Let me guess: you bought me a full Napolitan bridal frock.” I teased him.

“I’m sure such prospect would entice your imagination quite a bit, my dear.” He tugged at my T-shirt. “But don’t get your decadent self too excited; what I have in mind is a only a glamorous but otherwise unquestionably conventional shirt.”

“You’re such a poser, Lestat.” I grabbed his hips and pulled him eagerly to me. “As if people who fuck like gods the way we do could be bothered by such trivialities.”

“Honestly, Tristan, if things were left up to you we would never wear clothes at all.” His chest was now pressed against mine and, as his low laughter expanded, I surrendered to the impatience of a fugacious and all the more evocative kiss probing the skin of my neck. “But come now, I’m sure we’ll find a way to persuade this grim nihilist living inside you and eventually turn him into

the sensual prince meant to walk by my side tonight.”

He evaluated the mild indignation dancing across my eyes.

“Unless of course you’d rather stay at the villa and amuse yourself.”

“Well, I am unable to claim solitude as a mandatory factor when the mood for self-amusement possesses me, Lestat.” I replied with an explicitly indecent smirk. “As a matter of fact, I’ve noticed these affairs often tend to reach higher pinnacles of fulfillment whenever the encouragement of an attentive audience is involved, you know?”

“You’re an obscenity and I couldn’t possibly love you more.” He arched his brow and shook his head laughing a little. “I’d say we must save those performing skills of yours for an otherwise uneventful evening, as if such rarity could ever possibly occur as long as I have you invitingly breathing next to me.”

“With absolute and indeed unabashed pleasure, Lestat.” I bowed. “However right now I’d rather give into your injunction my beautiful tyrant, and placidly follow you wherever you may wish to lead.”

*********

In the end the whole dandification process admittedly took longer than what we had expected and, having turned out to be quite a voluptuous affair, it almost swayed us from Lestat’s evening agenda. The slim cut outfit he had selected was admittedly noteworthy for it implied a combination of the softest, thin cotton and a twin piping along the sides, which emphasized the waistline even more explicitly, a detail that did not go unappreciated, as Lestat kept reminding me. Still, having miraculously managed up to a certain but indeed rather crucial point to resist temptation, he eventually persuaded me to follow him out of the villa and into his car.

“I’m sure there must be some incredibly substantial motivation for you to inflict your own aesthetic code upon me and, perhaps even more deplorably indeed, deny me the consolation of your kisses tonight.” I stared at the dull motorway in front of us. Lestat pretended to ignore the mild remonstration in my voice as his foot fell heavier on the accelerator.

“Trust me, you won’t regret a thing, Tristan.” He eventually conceded in a low voice. “Besides, no matter what your anti-bourgeois canons might dictate, let me assure you it's taken a great deal of effort not to fuck you unconscious as soon as

your arms slid into the exquisite shirt you keep disdaining.” I secretly smiled at the assumption. Or so I thought.

“Stop congratulating yourself. I can hear you.”

He was onto me, as usual. “Well, it’s your fault for making me feel the most fortunate object of your munificent favors, Lestat.” I laughed. “Now, will you at least reveal where are we heading?” He shifted his eyes upon me and smiled. I knew he understood that as long as I was granted the inestimable concession of his company, the destination was a moot point.

************

We reached the coastal resort of Sperlonga and its former Sanctae Mariae church just in time to claim our seats and attend what it had immediately become obvious to be some sort of rather exclusive soiree. The main nave was animated by a variegated haut monde crowd and I felt momentarily oppressed by the pomposity of the entire venue. I felt Lestat’s fingers slide between my own and, as soon as we made our way across the hall, we had everyone’s eyes upon us.

“Looks like we managed to draw quite some attention, Lestat.” I smirked at the scrutiny of the gentleman seated to my left.

“Don’t even try to deny that you shamelessly love every second of it.”

We were still laughing when the lights gradually faded out. I followed the choir’s solemn entrance and, indeed as soon as the first unmistakable notes saturated the still air around us, I recognized it: King David’s Seven Penitential Psalms celestial rendition by the Franco-Flemish late composer Orlande de Lassus.

“Christ, Lestat...” My lips parted in sheer grateful rapture. “Are you trying to break my heart?” It was not hard to deduce he’d found out about my partiality for Early Music and had decided to treat me to a very exclusive feast. Lestat had the talent of a virtuoso when it came to decipher and at times even predict my moods, patterns and appetites. Whether I ached for passionate metaphysical debates, or indeed for Renaissance polyphonic gems, or whether I unreservedly needed him to ravage me hard and deep against the first wall in sight, Lestat never failed to unravel and ultimately satiate even my most questionable caprice.


	12. The Penitent ~ Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan finds that the music arouses memories of his younger years.

Tristan

The Penitent ~ Part Three

As the choir director led the second psalm to its glorious finale, my memory traveled back in time to a late September afternoon when I had kissed my mentor’s cheek to express my indebtedness to him for having gifted me with a rare recording of de Lassus’s sacred music collection. Lestat had always known about Elio, the one who, before anyone could infuse in my still impressionable psyche the aberation of self-compromise, had fostered and tenderly nourished me toward the pursue of pleasure and beauty beyond reason and convention.

Our alliance had bloomed around my mother’s table, right under the nose of the exclusive coterie of fellow diplomats, pseudo-Italian intelligentsia and indeed a few genuine iconoclasts which, at every dinner party, used to pervade our home with exotic but rather idle conversations, cigarette smoke and hypocrisy. It had been my custom, amusement and indeed secret rebellion then to catalog my mother’s guests’ protocols, behaviors and most importantly flaws onto a little journal that I purposely kept ready for review on my desk. Sadly my mother had always been far too busy pursuing her designs and ambitions to even bother entering my bedroom and find out how deeply I hated her; as a matter of fact hardly anyone had seemed to notice the flagrant disgust convulsing underneath the angelic courtesy of my smile until one evening Elio’s knowing gaze across the table suddenly bared me. He’d said nothing but gestured to me to follow him outside; when in the end I’d joined him on the terrace and sensed the scrutiny of his eyes and thoughts on me, I’d quite understandably felt utterly uncomfortable. We’d hardly ever spoken before but I knew who he was –an acclaimed movie director- and, most of all, I knew who I was: a fourteen years old insignificant nobody.

Presaging the hesitation in me, he’d then spoken in such a way that not only had offered reassurance but also unexpected consolation. By the time one of the guests had appeared on the terrace looking for us, I’d known I already belonged to him. In the months that had followed the affinity that brought us together had become even more profound and, much to my mother’s embarrassment, undeniably manifest to the majority of her illustrious and by then scandalized guests.

I guess my mother had been only relieved the day Elio’s attorney had presented her the request to appoint him as my mentor and legal guardian, for she’d impeccably signed every single paper without any complaint. That has undoubtedly been the one and only noble act of her entire life: setting us free from one another.

Although no one had the audacity nor the integrity to openly object to my debut as Elio’s underage passion, I still wonder if anyone, at least among his closest associates and friends, had genuinely possessed the finesse to venture beyond sheer base mediocrity and understand that what had ultimately induced a renowned luminary of the Italian movie industry to expose his own career to the risk of ostracism and his private life to censure, rather than being dismissed as the deviant weakness of a man in his late forties for a barely adolescent protégé, had in fact implied irrefutable sentiments.

There was indeed so much more than mere carnal pursuits; there was trust and there was apprenticeship involved, for Elio had led me into a love for capturing the world, its fleeting beauty as well as its horrors; he had taught me how to preserve on film what would have otherwise been destined to perish and be devoured by the grey ocean of oblivion.

Elio had instilled within me his own necessity, his vocation, his mastery until I’d evolved into what he’d always insisted I was destined to become: a witness of the ephemeral.

Indeed no matter how magnificent our union was, my mentor had been ironically denied the gratifications our hedonism deserved and craved, for the infirmity that at first he’d tried to conceal, had imposed the renunciation of his own pleasure and in the end had claimed his very life. Still, unable to capitulate to a barren existence punctuated by sensual abstinence, he’d encouraged me to pursue our ideals and explore my own vigor with countless lovers, often under the approval of his scrutiny and the flow of his instructions. On few special occasions he’d recorded on film what we used to refer to as our private collection of alcove studies, part of which, rather unfortunately, after his death, somehow had ended into the discourteous hands of an uncalculated heir. After threatening to broadcast the whole material, his successor had eventually chosen to desist in exchange of a significant slice of Elio’s final will, of which I was originally meant to be the only beneficiary.

No one but Lestat, who had morally stood by my side at the time of these deplorable events, knew that what partly prompted me to succumb to this son of a bitch’s extortion had not to be related to the fear of seeing the evidences of my 'ars amandi' exposed. I never did and still couldn’t care less about impermanent details such as my own reputation and people’s judgment. What in the end triggered my compliance was the intolerable anger at the thought of my mentor’s dignity being irremediably damaged.

In India they say everything always happens for the best and quite honestly there is no reason why I would contradict the reassurance such ideology compels. I might have been deprived of a few possessions and of some of the undeniable comfort I was once used to: What I’ve gained however seems to surpass all expectations and indeed hope itself, for each and every apparently fortuitous choice I’ve committed to has brought me where I was meant to be. I was sure that if my mentor could have witnessed Lestat and I together at last he would have wept with pure and quite proud delight. Perhaps scenting the emotion in me, Lestat leant over disregarding those who coughed out their uneasiness and brushed the corner of my smile with his lips.

“I should have predicted this.” He whispered. “Nothing quite a dash of liturgical music to inspire a heretic like you."

What could I have possibly craved more than offering public scandal as the magnificent [Orlande de Lassus's Penitential Psalms](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kMpdQycz9g8&feature=youtu.be) reverberated in a divine deluge all around us? I breathed out and, reaching for Lestat’s wrist, I welcomed the gentle siege of absolute happiness crushing my chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is available as a complete PDF novel: https://www.dropbox.com/s/n5kyofgiyqj30c3/60A_Complete_PDF_Novel.pdf


	13. The Penitent ~ Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat and Tristan explore a cave by the sea and endeavor to add to it's legacy.

**Tristan**

**The Penitent ~ Part Four**

The night was exceptionally warm and as we look our leave from the cold dampness of the decrepit Santae Mariae's walls at the end of such a heavenly recital, I proposed a quiet promenade to regain our senses after being exposed to a full hour of imperishable beauty. As we peregrinated along the vast emptiness of the shore, Lestat urged me to reveal all I knew about the nearby magnificent Roman manor Tiberius had elected as one of his most cherished escapades whenever a hiatus from the urban intrigues of the Palatine became a necessity. I then revealed that the very name of the town, Sperlonga, was derived from the Latin word speluncae, meaning natural sea caves or grottoes, many of which are to be found all along the shoreline, the most illustrious and indeed impressive of them all being the 'Grotta di Tiberio', the cave of Tiberius, where the second and, according to Suetonius's ‘Lives of the Caesars’, rather unpopular emperor of Rome indulged into sumptuous banquets on an artificial island set within the grotto itself and surrounded by an ornamental pool stocked with exotic fish. The various courses were served on tiny extravagant boats floating across the sea water to Tiberius's exclusive table.

"Patrician decadence at its best, I'd say." Lestat voiced his own amusement contemplating the dark contours of Tiberius’s Villa ruins at the end of the Levante Beach in front of us.

I placed my hand upon his left shoulder. "Nothing compared to the unmitigated degeneration Tiberius orchestrated within the more intimate precinct of his private residence on the island of Capri, believe me."

"Go ahead, shock me." He laughed.

I'm sure I managed to succeed at the challenge in some measure once I embarked upon the exposure of the old emperor's predilection for secret orgies where hordes of beautiful slaves of both sexes, selected as experts in all deviant amatory arts, copulated before him in triple unions to better inflame Tiberius's lust. His private bedrooms were furnished with the most salacious paintings and sculptures, as well as an erotic library, in case a performer should need an illustration of what was required. He also acquired a reputation for still grosser depravities such as training little boys, whom he termed pisces, or tiddlers, to crawl between his thighs when he went swimming and tease him with their licks and nibbles. It is said that once at a sacrifice, distracted by the young acolyte's exquisiteness, the emperor lost control and, hardly waiting for the ceremony to be completed, rushed the boy off and debauched him along with his brother, the flute-player. Subsequently, when they complained of the brutal assault, Tiberius had their legs broken. Lestat studied me for a while and then rewarded my detailed chronicle with roaring laughter.

"Seriously, Lestat." I shook my head trying hard not to join his amusement.

"Am I to believe you would approve such low debauchery?"

He gave me a side-glance. "Not as much as you, Tristan." I knew that glare and I could hardly wait for the repercussions.

"The cave." He breathed upon my lips. "I want to see it."

********

If there was any kind of surveillance patrolling the archeological site we never encountered it. Guided by the lull of the waves filling the shadows around us with its expanding echo, we easily located the opening of the cave. As we penetrated deeper and deeper into the vast opening the smell of stagnant sea water grew stronger and darkness soon engulfed all my senses. I stumbled upon some invisible viscid obstacle and nearly lost my balance dispensing a rather colorful succession of profanities in Italian. As my hand probed the cold wall of hard rock looking for some support, alertness turned into mounting inquietude.

"Lestat?" My voice expanded over the now ominously distant sound of the waves outside and quickly vanished into emptiness of the dark vault above leaving me alone with my racing heart. "Per favore, Lestat… I can’t see a damn thing here, where are you?” I sensed a sudden rippling sibilance crawling up behind me and, before I could even taste relief, his fingers locked around my throat in a ruthless grip.

"I want you on your knees, Tristan." Lestat’s voice poured from the impenetrable darkness all around me. "Let me watch you pay a humble homage to your illustrious ancestors’s memory."

I complied in reverent silence as both my hands tentatively travelled down his abdomen in my slow descent to the ground. To be denied the ferocious greed of his gaze upon me as I blindly rubbed my cheek against him, both exasperated and provoked my desire even more violently. One after the other I unfastened his garments until my lips were granted the remuneration they'd been begging for. I spoke his name, teasingly, in low warm whispers and soon sensed his surrender to the indecencies I breathed over the hardening invitation of his skin. Let him suffer too, I conjured as my mouth worshiped the full length of him with excruciating indolence; let me taste his hunger sublimate into pure agony. I took him all the way down to the root of his pleasure and then back to the now deliciously moist tip where I paused only long enough to collect those ambrosial pearls he wept upon the devotion of my tongue. I then moaned all my gratefulness out and reached down at my own need painfully pleading for release.

“Oh no, not yet.” He said in a ragged breath.

I suddenly found myself lifted off the ground and slammed hard against the crudely sloped walls of the cavern. After a moment of utter surprise I realized he had ripped the much debated shirt off my chest and was now digging his fingernails into the flesh of my hips compelling me to take the rest of my clothes off.

"Good boy.” He hissed into my ear. “Now do as I say and open your legs for me.”

"Lestat… wait…" I shivered and, despite the hesitation in my voice, I knew as much as he did that I wanted him to take me just as he threatened to do.

“I see you, Tristan. There is no darkness that can hide you from my eyes.” He growled against my throat. “And I can smell the sort of mortification you’re aching for.”

The low sound of his voice ignited my lust and I pushed my hips forward to let him feel the consequences of his taunting. I fastened both my arms around his neck as soon as he grabbed and impatiently pulled my whole weight upward. I held my breath as my legs eagerly wrapped around his waist. Oh I knew what was coming next and could hardly wait a minute longer. He claimed me slowly, yet at first the acute explosion of pain nearly took my breath away and forced me to cry out. I then felt his hands upon my face, his lips urging mine and finally the ambrosia of his blood descending from his mouth into my very soul.

 _Libera me de sanguinibus Deus_ *

Soaring tides of inescapable intoxication flooded at each push of his hips grinding into my flesh.

 _Deus salutis meae: et exultabit lingua mea iustitiam tuam_.

I opened my eyes and effortlessly pierced the darkness. I saw the overwhelming beauty of his fierceness as he lacerated the oblation of my wrist.

 _Domine labia mea aperies: et os meum annunciabit laudem tuam_.

I smelled my own blood as it quenched his furor. My head fell back and, as his thrusts reached the most hidden core of my rapture, I let my bliss gush forth thick and warm. I surrendered to the expanding swoon and to the sound of my name escaping his bleeding lips like a benediction.  

Was it tenderness what I found deep into his gaze once I managed to clear my vision and quiet the spasms still rippling all over my skin? He gathered me into his arms like a child and carried me out of the damp obscurity of the cave until the moonlight revealed the vivid streak of crimson along my inner thighs.

“I’m such a monster.” He brushed the fever of my temple with a kiss. “And you should be castigated for encouraging me the way you do.”

“Then blame me and me alone, Lestat.” I offered him my exhausted absolution. “For I need you to hurt me and I want my body to bear the marks of your fury tomorrow.”

“Enough with your self-indulgence, Tristan.” He shook his head and smiled down at me. “Come now, let the Tirrenian tide cleanse the consecration of our sins away.”

As we walked into the low dark currents I had to close my eyes at the gentle touch of his fingers wiping any trace of ruinous passion off my body. I buried my face into the ethereal gold of his hair. There was no need to voice the daring pride swelling deep down my throat. I felt his arms closing around me and in the profound silence we shared I experienced a rare fragment of absolute peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is available as a complete PDF novel: https://www.dropbox.com/s/n5kyofgiyqj30c3/60A_Complete_PDF_Novel.pdf


	14. Res Ipsa Loquitur ~ Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan accompanies Lestat for dinner and Lestat's initial observations are confirmed.

Lestat

Res Ipsa Loquitur ~ Part Two

Over the course of the next few nights, I made those observations as we made another trip up the coast to Naples. He ventured off to find his friends and pick up some photography supplies, while I sat at a [Spaccanapoli](http://www.tripadvisor.com/Attraction_Review-g187785-d195419-Reviews-Spaccanapoli-Naples_Province_of_Naples_Campania.html) café and watched the

people pass. I felt at times that I could happily reside the rest of my nights in Italy, for there was no shortage of interesting things to see and while I could not

partake of them in the way of a tourist, those nighttime adventures could be far

more intimate. So it was that after a solo night of touring the grounds of Museo di

San Martino, I spent the following day asleep beneath the city in a deeply concealed grave within the Catacombe di San Gennaro. How could I resist the lure of a place so similar to Les Innocents?

Tristan had spent the day with his companions, and met the following night outside the Teatro di San Carlo. We went to a nearby restaurant and talked about various things as he made short work of his meal. I watched his eyes, and in them saw my blood, unmistakably. When we stood together a short time later and I drew him into an embrace, I paid greater attention to the feel of his skin. Could it be smoother? No, no. I was a victim of my overactive imagination. Still, as the night progressed I found myself studying him. We waited for the crowds to depart and made our way into the closed opera house which was by now an amusingly easy trick for Tristan.

I was instantly transported back to my nights on stage and as we explored, I told him of those days in my mortal youth when Nicolas and I had fallen in love with performing and one another. He didn’t press for details knowing, as everyone does, that it is a tender subject for me and one I don’t generally care to discuss in detail past what has been documented. To stand in the main auditorium was overwhelming, even with only the harsh fluorescence of the security lights to illuminate the area. I leapt up onto the stage and pulled him along. I urged him to act out a little scene with me, and grandly I embellished the words I still recalled from so long ago. We made our way back to the dressing rooms and I nosily investigated the makeup and tools of the modern trade. I could smell in my mind the greasepaints and powders we’d used in the old times, and while this new stuff was surely more convenient, I had to laugh as I recalled the image of my face as I’d sat before the mirror with my lovely female cast mates as they smudged and pulled the stubborn white face paint and praised my performances. How lovely those girls had been, and while Nicolas and I had one another as lovers, we were willing to share our passions with the ladies on more than a few occasions. Such things took place here as well: I could smell it on clothing and furniture. We passed through the museum section before leaving and I wanted to take those old costumes with the fur trim back to Ravello with me, hell, I wanted them with me wherever I went. I stepped over the barrier rope and put on a golden floor length cape, fit for King Lear and Tristan laughed. I assured him that if I took such items with me back to Ravello, I would look much better in the cape and nothing more and that he would meet a pleasurable end upon the fur. He suggested we could experiment with that idea there and then, but I declined and put it back on the display rack. Shortly thereafter we headed out of the theatre into the night.  

I was however, thirsting. There were a dozen other places I wanted to see in Naples, but I knew I must attend my hunger or Tristan would ultimately pay the price. While he was a willing donor, I only took small amounts of his blood during our intimacies. When I was truly feeling the need, I had to look for a more… expendable source.

“Stay here.” I told him as I rose from our table at another little café in the centro storico. I had a feeling, an instinctive something pulling me to the North where I envisioned a small camp of homeless men and women.

“Why?” He looked at me and came to a sudden understanding. “You’re going to feed. I want to go with you.”

“No. There’s no need for it. Wait here. I won’t be long.” I looked at him sternly. There was a glow in his eyes from the amber lights that were strung above the table. I watched him as he watched me, and I scented the air both for the meal that waited not so far away, and for the blood that I could detect moving inside this boy beside me.

“Lestat, what difference does it make now? It isn’t as if there is some grand secret to what you are and how you exist.” He gave me a slow and seductive smile. “I won’t be in the way. I won’t spoil the game. Let me come.”

After another minute of silent consideration, I turned and walked off. I hadn’t said not to follow me, so after he sat a moment in confusion, he came behind a short distance. I moved at a pace just under what would cause undue attention. I thought of the depiction in the last movie, you know the one, where those vampire actors moved in rapid-framed sequences. When I first saw that, I laughed at the preposterous nature of the special effect, but the more I thought of it since, I had come to believe it wasn’t a bad means of conveyance, for if I walked too

fast, that is what mortals would see: Something that was there one minute, gone the next – in a line to indicate that there was an indeterminate object passing by them in a flash. There were those of course who could sense that it was a preternatural creature, something metaphysical perhaps, and when I chose to move in such a way I often made a smartass point of turning toward such perceptive mortals to give them a mental wink. Wouldn’t you suspect such a trick from me? For now, Tristan ran to keep up and I figured that was appropriate. If he wanted to be a witness to such things, let him earn it. When at last we were on the outskirts of the city, I paused and let him catch up.

“Goddamn it,” He panted. “That wasn’t really fair.”

I declined a comeback, and looked around. While he caught his breath, I once more inhaled the scents in the air. Over the hill some two hundred feet away, there were men and women by a weakening bonfire, and one was drunkenly staggering off into the trees. Ah his heart called to me as he laughed and muttered to himself about the crime he’d committed only hours before. He let out a stream of urine and with appreciation, fondled the appendage that had violated a young girl in an alleyway. Rapists were always a good choice when I wanted to feed, for it seemed justified to force my penetration as they had done, to listen to them plead and beg and say no over and over, and to finish the act as they struggled.

“Lestat?” He looked at me questioningly.

“Come on.” I said. We began to walk toward the camp and on the crest of the hill, I sighted him there in the clearing as he leaned up against a tree and watched his ‘old lady’, while she threw logs on the dwindling fire. He was thinking of sex with her – but it would be his victim that fueled his lust.

“If you want to see this, start off here and circle around the camp until you come up behind him. There’s a path back there that they use for… well, just try to watch where you’re stepping.”

He looked at me and laughed, but wasted no time in heading off where I’d indicated with my hand. I watched him go and felt a fleeting sadness that the hunger outweighed. I lifted to the sky and in seconds just as Tristan approached from the same direction, I was behind the man and into action. He had no time to turn in consideration before I grabbed him and sank my teeth into his sweaty neck. His blood filled my mouth and in the brief instant before I closed my eyes to the sensation, I saw Tristan leaned in close to the man’s face to see his terror, to smell his fear and to hear the ferocity of my attack. As I drank, I thought I heard his laughter low and resonate with dark delight. Then I could see and hear no more as I drank. I took in every drop of his anger: his past where women degraded and used him and led him onto a path of desperation. I felt his pain and helplessness and yes at last, his surrender in my arms as the last beats of his heart pulsed rich and warm upon my lips.

I released him and the lifeless body slumped to the ground. A minute or so after a kill, vampires are vulnerable in that we are drunk, our senses reeling: I swayed, my lips parted in an ecstatic smile. Tristan came into my arms tentatively and took my face into his hands.

“Ah, Lestat” I felt his words against my face. “Dividilo con me adesso.” No, Tristan, I thought, don’t.

He traced his tongue around my lips and uttered a soft moan. I pushed at his shoulders but I was still swimming in my own rapture.

“Tristan no,” I said weakly. He answered that only with a deep kiss that pulled any remaining blood into his mouth. He bit my tongue and I felt it bleed. That should have been more difficult for him but of course I knew why it wasn’t. I kissed him then, I wanted him and yet there came the desire to push him away as the truth filled my entire being. I might have done just that had my volition not been affected by the heat and fog of the kill. He moaned as my blood came forth and finally, reluctantly, I broke away. “Stop... please...” My words still slurred somewhat as I pressed my hand against his chest.

His eyes were filled with cold disregard as he looked at the corpse.

“What do we do with him?” He asked.

“Start...” God but I was breathless. “Start on the way back to the city. I’ll take care of it. I’ll meet you back at the car.” I was damn glad the night was still relatively young but even so, it would be a challenge to get back to Ravello before dawn.

He followed my directive and I watched him walk off in the moonlight. I shook my head and felt the tendrils of self reproach snake along my spine. As I dragged the body deep into the thicket, I fought against recent memories: Tristan taking my blood, how much of it, over and over. Surely I had known the consequences. Dead eyes looked at me accusingly as I dug a shallow grave, but oh now you see, dead men are the perfect jurors and this one made his verdict known. I pushed him into the hole and covered it over.

“Save your judgement for your companions in hell, asshole.” I said as I covered the scene with branches and debris.

When I emerged, I was solemn.

Whether it be dead men or my fellow immortals, what was done was done. There was nothing to do now but make an inevitable choice. Intermingled with that ephemeral sadness and regret was a soft thrill and I could not forbid the slow spread of a smile on my face as I smoothed my clothing and walked toward the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is available as a complete PDF novel: https://www.dropbox.com/s/n5kyofgiyqj30c3/60A_Complete_PDF_Novel.pdf


	15. Destiny and Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recognizing the situation, Lestat decides to call Louis and David for reasons only he seems to know.

Lestat

Destiny and Decision

As I approached the car I saw him there, leaned against the trunk as he smoked one of those small cigarettes he occasionally rolled. I had to admit that the organic tobacco he used didn’t bear the same offense to my senses, but I still felt a small twinge of distaste. When he noticed me, a deviant smile spread across his face and I felt his thoughts as if he’d whispered in my ear: You didn’t expect that – or did you?

“Come on, we’re barely going to make it before sunrise.”

“Would you like to climb into the trunk just in case? I can drive.”

“Very funny.” I said as I slipped behind the wheel. I could smell mortal blood on his clothing and it filled me with an odd revulsion. “Tristan…”

He drank from a bottle of Aglianico and turned slightly to stare at me. I hadn’t noticed it earlier but assumed it was purchased as he waited for me to return from the camp. His eyes still held that same dark mirth, and it moved me toward unexpected irritation, though I couldn’t have said whether it was with him or myself.

"Oh Lestat," He struggled to find words and I offered no assistance. "I could taste things in his blood, almost see them. That's how it is, si? And to see his death…I felt it as if it were my own but no pain, only an indescribable wonder."

“Yes, that’s how it is.” With a slight sigh, I turned on the radio and settled my attention on the traffic as we merged onto the autostrada and picked up speed. The last hours of darkness slipped away and I let the music take me into a meditative state, but instead of finding silence in my mind, I was thinking of everything at once.

Sensing my reticence, he settled back and drank too eagerly. He was going to earn himself a monumental hangover but if it drowned out such thoughts for now it was worth the headache later.

I would have to admit that from the very earliest nights in our conversations, I wanted to meet him and once I had, the thought that he would make a marvelous vampire crossed my mind more than a few times. Sure, he was a sensualist and that my friends, is a requirement for immortality – can you imagine me as a dispassionate soul? Hardly. Yet within Tristan there is an innate and feverish intelligence that in fact surpasses his carnality though on the surface, he’d argue that point perhaps. He is a young philosopher, ready to discuss anything from the atrocities of ancient Rome to modern politics of the world and I have seen few who are as eager to investigate anything and everything along the way. His apartment in the city overflowed with books and the few nights I’d visited him there I couldn’t help but notice more than one notebook, open beside a newspaper or magazine with a pen lying at the ready to add to the half page of comments he’d written on one subject or another. Now as I hurried us back toward the villa, the image was one I could not hold for long. In its place came the image of him in the throes of a bodily death, his belly clutched and his face contorted in pain. I’d witnessed it with how many others now? I thought of my own mortal death: Those agonizing hours before I woke with eternal vision and became what I became.

Now, there was little choice for Tristan but to enact that scene. I shook my head – there was another choice of course. I looked over at him, his head back against the seat, eyes closed. He was in and out of an alcoholic sleep, which was likely for the best. A sudden, overwhelming sadness hit me as I moved my eyes between the road and his unconscious form. His only mistake and fault in any of this had been to fall ruinously in love with me, and the truth was, I loved him in return. Some could argue that if such a claim were true, I never would have jeopardized his mortal existence. Maybe that was true and maybe for denying it, I was more heartless than I liked to believe. It was too late now for such contemplation. Regardless of blame or circumstance, now there were only choices to be made.

No, I could not kill him… and I would not be the one to bring him into this existence.

With that thought, I wanted to pull the car to the side of the road. I wanted to get out and pace and… and what? Punch something maybe – but there was no time and it would serve no purpose. The facts were obvious and unavoidable and while there was a large part of me that would happily have denied the evidence, there was another, larger part that found it so depraved and thrilling that I wanted to pick up the phone and announce it like news of something I had unexpectedly accomplished. But that wasn’t quite true, was it?

I had known the consequences all along.

He roused slightly and we looked at one another.

“Whassa Matter?” He slurred. “Sei arrabbiato?”

I shook my head. “Not mad.” I reached over and caressed his thigh. “There are just many things now we need to consider.”

That thought was lost as he began to sing. My Italian was rough and I could follow it even less when it was delivered in a sleepy, drunk serenade. “You know what it is? He’s a soldier in love.” He explained. “Oje vita, oje vita mia...Scrive sempe e sta' cuntenta:io nun penzo che a te sola” He reached a crescendo before letting the lyrics trail off but looked at me with utter, heartbreaking adoration in his eyes. “It means ‘Oh life, oh my life ...Write ever and be happy: I can only think of you...” He smiled and I couldn’t help but to take his hand in mine as he sank back once more against the leather seat. Soon enough, he was lost to a sleep that lasted even until we arrived in Ravello.

From there, I collected him into my arms and got him into bed. He mumbled and moaned and tried to pull me in with him, but there was no time for that and in fact for the first time in a long while, the storm in my mind washed away any interest even if dawn hadn’t been close. I closed the door to his room and headed underground to the safety and security of my chamber. Once I sat down on the bed, I was overcome with turbulent emotions.

I couldn’t kill him – no, I could. I was enough of a monster, a straight up thug fiend that could do that very thing despite my love for him. But I wouldn’t.

I thought of all he’d been to me, become to me… all he would lose if the alternative came to pass, and how could it not? There really were only two options, right? What was the third choice: Leave him altogether and hope for the best? Leave him as a hybrid and fail to tell him the things he would do and feel in the name of the blood that moved now in his veins? I shook my head and moved out to the lower terrace for a breath of air. The horizon was pale lavender and already my limbs were weakening. It had been one hell of a night.

Who then, I asked myself. My thoughts tumbled back and forth. Life. Death… and a hell of a lot of questions. It could not be Louis. My God, if I dared to propose such a thing to Louis he might well behead me – hell, he’d behead me then face that head with its surprised expression to face my body and see what he’d justifiably done. Alright, well he might not go that far, but there was no way I could ask him to be the one to turn Tristan. No way.

Logically, the next choice might be David… but if Louis would behead me, David would merely burn me with a stare and an unparalleled coldness in response to the audacity of such a request. He wouldn’t tolerate my presence for long once such words had come out of my mouth.

Tsk. Immortals and their flair for drama.

As my eyes grew heavier, I headed back inside and closed the door securely. I went through the routine of checking the windows and setting locks into place. Names ran through my mind. I would kill Tristan myself before I let Armand turn him or instigate his particular brand of madness. The only fledgling he had made was at one point so infected by it that he’d… Daniel.

The thought of that name stopped me short and I stood in the middle of the room. Daniel Molloy oh wait, now just one minute yes indeed. I felt a curious smile forming as I moved to my bed and undressed. Daniel Molloy… friend to Lucas Besara who had not fared so well and yes, Daniel, mistreated child of Armand who might well make a better guide into immortality than the deadly cherub had turned out to be for him. It was really a perfect solution on many levels, and I felt a measure of amused satisfaction as I covered myself with the silken sheets.

There wasn’t anything truly funny about any of this, least of all for dear

Tristan. Still, as the boy himself had taught me to say, “Le cose vanno così.”

Indeed. Things are as they are. No going back. Let’s do what we must and make the best of it. Still, as my body went limp and surrendered to sleep, I wondered if that was just another in a long line of lies.

********

The next night I woke unusually early and headed to the shower. The door from the upper, main floor to my rooms was not locked to Tristan, but once I was asleep he wisely left me alone. He knew the general time of my waking and so I was not at all surprised to sense him as he came into the bathroom. Without invitation, he undressed and stepped in with me beneath the hot water.

“Mm, you look delicious. I haven’t eaten yet – God, why didn’t you smack that bottle out of my hand last night? This hangover is killing me.”

“That’s the least of it.” I said softly as I turned to accommodate him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s right. Words aren’t what I need right now.” He moved against me, the water making our contact points even more enjoyable. “Come on, make me feel better.”

Now how could I resist such a plea? If he felt bad and my affections could cure him, who was I to deny such compassion? That made me laugh and I grabbed his hair and pushed him against the wall of the shower firmly before leaning close against his ear.

“You think I have what you need to clear your head?” I pushed my growing arousal to his wet ass to emphasize the question and he nodded.

“Only if you give it to me deep and slow.” He moved to the back, bent forward with his hands on the lower ledge and looked back at me.

And so I did as the water threatened to go cold. In the end, I held him in my arms, his legs wrapped around my waist as he faced me, leaned back against the slick tiles. He groaned as his climax arrived, brought about by his own hand in time with the slow rhythm he’d requested. It sprayed against his belly as he clenched around me, but before I could fully appreciate that wickedly intimate mortal achievement, it was rinsed away and Tristan, shuddering, lowered himself down to stand leaned into my chest. I was still achingly hard and he worked me well with his hand. I relented against the wall and he kissed me deeply. As I was about to succumb to his ministrations, I felt his hand against my neck. In his kiss I could sense the blood hunger, sharp and sudden, an instant after that realization I felt what, his thumbnail sharpened or was it something more? I broke away from him and grabbed up his wrist. Upon his thumb was the antique thumb bolt I kept in a box along with other items from my long ago. The silver was tarnished, but the point was lethally sharp – it paid to keep it that way.

I snarled and pulled it off his finger. “Stop it, do you hear me. Enough!” I pushed him away and turned around to shut off the water before stepping out of the enclosure. He remained there defiantly.

“Why do you deny me?”

For a second it was as if I could see a deeper demon in him and the sneer on that entity’s face swam to the surface and outshone any injury Tristan tried to portray.

“After that, I hardly think you can say I deny you anything.” I threw a towel to him and as he dried off, I walked through my room, put on a robe and headed up the stairs toward his room. He was soon on my heels.

“Lestat wait, I’m sorry!” He said as he stood in the doorway with the towel around his waist.

“Don’t be sorry Tris, - none of this is your fault.” I sighed. “Listen, you need to go back to Rome for a while.”

“You’re kicking me out? I’m supposed to believe you’re not mad at me but you’re telling me to get the fuck out?”

“Don’t think of it like that – Louis and David are coming and I need some time with them to go over some family business you could say.” It was a horridly presumptuous statement given the fact that I hadn’t even called them yet, but Tristan didn’t know that, did he?

“Family business my royal ass!” He pushed past me into the room and began to rummage through the closet for something to wear. He carried a small armful of clothing to the bed and dropped it. He paused for a moment, glared at me and retrieved his duffle bags from the second storage closet.

He muttered something else in his native language, but I let it go. “Things have been a bit intense lately.” I sat down on the bench at the end of his bed.

“With all that’s happened, we need some space.”  

While that was mostly true, my emotions were confused. I wanted him to be away from me and further temptation of the blood but I knew that with the behaviors he’d shown, it was also risky to send him off, particularly full of hurt and anger.

“Go on. Leave me alone. I’ll pack and be gone as soon as I can. I wouldn’t want to hold you up or anything.” He faced me again with that defiant posture

“I understand you’re angry but don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” I moved to embrace him but there was a flash in his eyes that stopped my approach. “I know you won’t believe this now, but everything’s going to work out.”

He scowled and said nothing as the clothes were shoved into his bags. This time it was no imaginary inner demon I saw. The anger and resentment was his own and admittedly well-warranted. As I turned away I could only hope that my prediction was accurate.

For now, it was time to bite the bullet and make those calls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is available as a complete PDF novel: https://www.dropbox.com/s/n5kyofgiyqj30c3/60A_Complete_PDF_Novel.pdf


	16. Exiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat feels he needs his space and distance from the situation and Tristan himself.

Tristan

Exiled

The train slightly jerked backwards and with a prolonged lament of screeching brakes at last came to a complete stop. I slid out of the restless slumber I’d plunged into the moment I had entered my compartment and grudgingly had to acknowledge the stinging heaviness vexing my eyes. I forced myself to desert the all too luring sanctuary unconsciousness kept promising and strained to put the situation under clearer focus. ‘ _Latina_ ’ read the deep blue railway station sign across my window. Rome was less than half an hour away and Ravello was as far as I needed it to be.

“Rough night, young man?”

I shifted my attention to the elderly gentleman sitting in front of me and merely stared at him until he returned to the alienation of his newspaper figuring out it would have been a lot wiser to ignore my presence for the rest of the journey.

As the train slowly pulled out of Latina station, I could have happily killed for a cup of black coffee and a paracetamol fix to neutralize the splitting headache throbbing wide and wild across my skull. I left my seat with a groan and faltered down the narrow aisle fighting back a sudden wave of sickness.

The lavatory was filthy but providentially vacant. I locked the door and as the train gained speed I took courage and confronted the reflection glaring back at me from the surface of the mirror. Indeed I looked as execrable as I felt - hair in a glorious mess all around and over my face, a deep cut throbbing down my swollen lower lip and the eyes of a madman. I shook my head and, despite the indisputable defeat, I could only laugh at myself trying to find the entire situation somehow amusing. For once it didn’t work and I just had to look away.

I reached for the sink tap and set to clean up my face and hair with resentful movements until I resembled something close to a human being again. As I watched the water and the blood vanish down the drain, I meticulously summoned the sequence of events that had brought me to such unanticipated epilogue – Lestat requesting me to take leave from the villa, the mystifying expression upon his face as he watched me pack both my stuff and my indignation, the intolerable silence he repaid me with when I reminded him that, since the last couch to Salerno had just left Ravello, he had no other choice other than putting up with me until the next morning. I simply could not take the coldness of his gaze a minute longer and, without uttering another word, I just turned my back on him, grabbed my coat and obeyed my own fury as it led me out of the villa and straight into the first wine bar on Piazza del Duomo.

What followed that first bottle of powerful Nero d’Avola was a blur animated by tourists laughing too loudly a couple of tables away from me, a truly hideous Italian Pop hit playing on the radio, the overly loquacious waiter and occasional drinking companion –Pasquale– and most of all the restless tide of my thoughts threatening to drown any trace of already wavering lucidity in me. I left two notes of twenty euros on the table and stumbled towards the entrance hardly aware of anything other than the incessant monologue within my head. I was summoning back what had happened in Naples only a few nights before – the shock and the desperate pleasure I’d experienced when I had tasted Lestat’s victim’s blood upon his panting lips after the kill, the implications of it all, the consequences – when my shoulder collided against something, or rather, against a rather over-sized someone. Before I could formulate an apology to the visibly ticked off gentleman I was flooded with some of the most picturesque verbal abuse I’d ever heard and, much to my incredulity, things soon escalated until his elbow shot upwards to meet my face and I was left very little choice other than show my appreciation by diving my knuckles deep into his stomach. Indeed it could have turned out to be quite an honorable brawl if only Pasquale, aided by two other Samaritans, hadn’t rushed outside to separate us.

“Cazzo, Tristan, ma cosa ti ha preso? – For fuck sake, what’s wrong with you?” He frantically pulled me away from my opponent and stared at me with huge dark questioning eyes.

I guided my hand to the mess that only minutes before had been my mouth and studied the bright red residuum smearing the tip of my fingers. As soon as my gaze rose to meet the author of such fine work now being held back by his woman, I was visited by what could only be described as a vision of me getting hold of the greasy steak knife resting on the plate in Pasquale’s precarious hands and then driving the blade deep across the ruffian’s protruding belly until his intestines dangled from the fresh wound resembling a convulsing mass of bloated worms. I saw the expression upon the man’s face metamorphose from challenging hostility to a sudden impulse of caution. He took a step backwards and I knew he had seen, if not the whole epiphany in gory details, the lurking madness in me.

I heard Pasquale’s voice somewhere close to me.

“Adesso vai… Vai a casa, Tristan.” Go home now.

Home, right. Fuck Ravello. Fuck Lestat. Fuck Louis. Just fuck it all.

I angrily shook Pasquale’s tight grip off me and left the scene craving nothing but the cold, the wind gusts and the blessed wilderness of the nearby cliff.

I cannot say for how long I sat there, just breathing in and out the frozen saltiness and the indifferent quietude of the winter sea below, as if waiting for a sign, or perhaps the intercession of either a celestial being, a numen, or even a demon to clear the chaos, to unfold the delirium of my latest thoughts and actions. What was the meaning, the ultimate purpose of the blind rage creeping like an infection throughout my veins? What was this insatiable greed clouding my judgment? Lestat was right in his frivolous, unsympathetic assumptions; indeed things had been rather tense lately and there had been several incidents when I could hardly recognize myself – almost as if there was an urge in me that I just could not hold back. Almost as if I was turning into that very urge itself.

At last a livid dawn broke above the cliff, the sea and my solitary reverie. I walked back to the villa and slid into my room to collect my bag. I stood for a long moment in front of the door leading to Lestat’s chambers and when rancor threatened to crumble into pain I knew it was time for me to leave. I carefully placed the set of keys Lestat months ago had entrusted to me on the dining room table on my way out and closed the door behind me without looking back.

                   

The apartment had clearly suffered from my long absence for as soon as I walked in I was welcomed by an omnipresent thick veil of dust and by a stale odor that literally took ages to purge from both my rooms. The fridge’s content, far beyond putrefaction, could no longer be identified and my beloved Phalaenopsis had shrunk to a grey cluster of dried roots and leaves resembling a dead alien more than anything else.

I pulled out my Pentax and decided to immortalize the catastrophe – food and plant casualties and a couple of self-portraits too. Once I was done with the documentation of my magnificent return home, I cursed under my breath and sank into the musky embrace of the couch. I then turned my head towards the open window and listened to the sounds of Rome under the late afternoon mild downpour.

I couldn’t help wondering whether it was raining in Ravello as well.

                   ***********

I woke up to the insistent buzz of the interphone.

“Sabi…” I croaked once I managed to reach the handle on the wall.

“Wow, you remember my name? I’m impressed.”

“Come upstairs, girl.” I leaned my forehead up against the door. “I need a hug.”

“You’re lucky, it’s free hugs and cornetti* home delivery day, love.” She chuckled.

I pressed the little button to let her in and grabbed my jeans from the floor. The moment she appeared on the doorstep, flushed cheeks and smiling eyes, I wondered whether she knew how dear she was to me.

“By the way, how did you know it was me… Holy fuck, Tristan! What the hell happened to your face?” The most delicious frown fell down her face as soon as she noticed the bruises.

“Believe it or not, it would seem that your pacifist friend has turned into a nasty thug and–” I turned to check the aftermath of my last night in Ravello in the mirror next the kitchen window and words simply died in my throat. The lesion had almost completely healed, so much that under the incredulous inspection of my fingers the entire area felt only slightly swollen. Nothing compared to the previous day’s infected mess.

“Everyone knows pacifists are the worse troublemakers ever!” Sabina laughed, then came up behind me and closed both her arms around my waist. “Tris, are you all right?”

I nodded through the mirror but I knew she could sense the inquietude in me.

She pressed her lips together and granted no mercy.

“Tell me what happened in Ravello.”

“Nothing major, I just bumped into a local asshole. I won a swollen lip and he a much deserved punch or two.”

“I’m not talking about last night.”

I looked down at her fingers restlessly toying with the cotton thread Rahul Prasad had tied around my hips in what now seemed someone else’s life.

“I know.” I murmured.

“Why did you come back to Rome? And don’t even think of getting away with this using the exhibition in Naples as an excuse because it’s not going to work.”

“Are you suspecting I’ve been a victim of domestic abuse?” I laughed and turned around to look down at her.

“I don’t but you might become one in a minute, if you push it.” Sabina glowered at me in frustration. “I can tell something is eating away at you, so quit pottering about it and tell me what’s going on.”

By the time the coffee percolator steamed and spurted on the stove filling the room with its rich aroma, Sabina had heard the whole abridged story; with the omission of a few crucial details, of course.

“Fair enough,” She said while arranging the still warm croissants onto a chipped plate. “This French obsession of yours probably only needs some space. Sounds legal to me.”

“Sabi, I’m not contesting the legitimacy of the request.” I shrugged and drew both knees to my chest. “The procedure however has been rather brutal, if I may. How would you feel if Tullio came out of the blue and ordered you to check out without any previous notice?”

“Hm, let me think of it. I’m not sure how I would –feel- but that would surely cost him his coglioni**.” She took a long appreciative sip from her cup. “Who are these guests your capricious lover doesn’t want you to meet anyway?”

“David, a… very close friend. And Louis,” I hesitated. “His husband.”

Sabina blinked at me. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Sadly I'm not and, believe me, you’ve only heard half the story.” I shook my head thinking how utterly priceless it would have been to show Sabina the unequivocable marking Lestat had carved just above my left nipple during our last interlude in Ravello.

“Ma Santo Dio, Tristan, can’t you just get yourself into a dull but otherwise healthy affair every now and then?” There was exasperation in the tone of her voice and yet the expression on her face revealed just how much she genuinely worried, once again, about me.

If she only knew I was messing with nothing less than a married immortal Frenchman. Christ, could things be more fucked up than this? Somehow I was beginning to fear they could -and in fact would- and I looked away nibbling at one end of my croissant without really filling my mouth with the sugary taste of it. My mind instead took a dark detour and consumed itself in the obsessive thought of Louis.

_What’s the sound of his laughter like - Does he love watching TV on the couch with Lestat lying across his chest too – Is his mouth as indecent as my own – Will he catch my scent still lingering upon his beloved maker’s skin?_

Sabina was absolutely right in her exasperated reproaches. I always seemed to fall fatally in love with disaster.

                   

cornetti*: Roman terminology for croissants

coglioni**: very much a synonym of the Spanish word 'cojones'


	17. Intermission and Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are introduced (in this series) to loyal friend and houseman to Louis and Lestat, Mr. Brian Callahan. Readers of Gairid's work may already know Brian :)

Brian Callahan

Intermission and Introduction

_For those unfamiliar with our world, Brian Callahan started out as an acquaintance-turned-employee—a daytime agent , valet and whatever else Louis needs him to be. He has been with Louis (and Lestat when He is in residence at Royal Street) since he was nineteen or so. Brian is now in his mid-thirties and has a rather unique window into the lives of Louis and Lestat._

Here, Brian recalls his first meeting with Louis

I should realize by this time that when I think I have a pretty good handle on a situation that’s about the time I should be looking for an upheaval of some kind. This is true for life in general, of course, but when your life revolves around dealing with immortals in any capacity it’s the rule rather than the exception. This isn’t a complaint—far from it in light of what’s been happening, it’s just an observation.

Louis lay in his daytime sleep in the bedroom, safely hidden from the sun. I’d been lying beside him for most of the day in my own stuporous sleep brought about by the night’s athletics and a bit of blood loss; it was ravenous hunger and thirst that awakened me and the first thing I did was shuffle into the kitchen to drink down a quart of water and devour the rest of the rare roast beef I’d bought for myself to make sandwiches.  

Just now I was observing myself in the steamed bathroom mirror, noting that the finger-mark bruises on my hips had faded quite a bit from just the night before. I knew why but it still makes me giddy to notice it, this proof of the delirious turn things have taken. I’ve known Louis since I was barely eighteen and since that time a lot has passed between us from my first awareness of what he is to the present, a few years shy of two decades in service to him. I think of it that way, in service.  

The gentleman’s gentleman, or so I thought until I met an actual gentleman’s gentleman and found out that maybe it was a little more casual than that. Still, service felt like the right word because it encompassed many things. I’m not the boy I was when we first got acquainted.

I wasn’t homeless, wasn’t in need of rescue:: I had my own place, tiny and shabby, but clean and warm; not that I spent a lot of time there other than to sleep. I worked two jobs and most of what I made paid the rent. I have never been what anyone would call a likely protégée; what skills I had back then were based in a shadowy, somewhat nefarious past in South Boston. If I’d stayed there, things would likely have turned out wildly different, but I found it insupportable to stay upon the death of my older brother. My point is Louis did not take one look at me and have the sudden urge to jump my bones (though I surely coveted his bones).  

We met at a bookstore—to me it was _the_ bookstore, The Strand in New

York City, reaching for the same book in the antique books section—The Happy Prince and Other Tales which I’d read before, but the binding on the book was old and beautiful and I wanted to look at the embossing and see the typeface and smell the old, gold-edged pages. The same book caught Louis’s eye for much the same reasons. Life’s funny that way.

“Were you going to purchase the volume?”  

I remember the low, even tone of his voice and the slightest of accents. French, I though, not the Quebecois I was used to hearing from my mother and my numerous aunts, but familiar. I remember thinking that he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. I also remember smiling at his question because all I had in my pocket were two subway tokens and seven wrinkled dollar bills.

“No. This section is out of my price range, but it doesn’t cost anything to look, right? I come here when I can to see what’s come in and to check out the discounted books.” I had the book in my hand, so I offered it to him. He took it with a slight inclination of his head. I lingered for a moment, hoping to maybe continue the conversation but he was studying the volume with a critical air so I continued on down the narrow aisle and when I looked back, he was gone.

Gone from sight, that was. He was still in the store, though I didn’t see him as I continued browsing. He approached me as I left through one of the side doors and I gleefully accepted his offer to go across the street for coffee.

Long story short…he hadn’t invited me to coffee to be followed by hot sex at his place, a fantasy immediately conjured by my the imagination of the fevered boy that still lived in my now-adult body, but by the end of that night, it hadn’t mattered (well, not much anyway). It was rare for me to have a rambling conversation with anyone, much less a pale beauty like Louis who was dauntingly well-read and intelligent. After several cups of coffee and a sandwich that he graciously ordered and then gave me, we walked to the subway entrance and there we parted. As I was about to go down the steps, he called me back.

“I nearly forgot.” he said. “This is for you. Open it when you get home. Good night. It was clearly a book, wrapped in gift paper within a paper bag. “Thank you.” I managed, looking at the package. He smiled and walked back up the street. When I got to my miserable little studio way the hell out in Queens, I sat on my narrow bed and opened it with a strongly beating heart. It was the beautiful copy of The Happy Prince and other Tales. There was a card inside that read “If you ever happen to be in New Orleans, please stop by—I am available most evenings.” The elegant script was followed by an address.

It all sounds wonderfully romantic but in reality it wasn’t, except maybe for the feelings engendered in my own heart; that part never really changed. That night, though, it was just a really good night, spent with a person who opened my eyes a little wider and though I was self-conscious about my admittedly limited education, I got the feeling that such things meant very little to him; instead I felt like in spite of what was a great deal of difference in our circumstances that there was some little connection. I think about it sometimes, knowing him the way I do know—what did I do to have him hand over his name and his address the way he did? Louis is not impulsive for the most part. I have asked him but he never really answers me, he just gives me a cat-like inscrutable glance and turns the conversation to other things,

Obviously I made my way to New Orleans and here I am still, gazing at myself in the misty mirror and gauging the rate of healing that drinking the intoxicating blood of a powerful, beautiful vampire facilitated. What a world.

The change began over a year ago, the night after Louis’s sudden and fearsomely public statement over in Central City. That was something that was completely at odds with his normally undetectable manner of hunting. He’d come to thank me, he said. It was odd because I’d done what I did often enough over the years---got rid of anything that might remotely attract unwanted attention to him. The Law is definitely unwanted attention since he very much liked living in New Orleans. The Law around here may be a bit skewed…okay… a lot skewed, but you never know when someone might pick on something that could get the ball rolling. I’m told that City Hall would put the kibosh on anything untoward, but there’s been so many changes lately, I didn’t trust that Intel as far as I could throw it.

I’m rambling. I do that a lot, especially lately. My mind seems never to sleep at all, whirring away even when I’m asleep; I have vivid dreams, more vivid than anything I’ve experienced before—erotic dreams, bizarre dreams, violent dreams – sometimes all three at once—when I’m awake my concentration is…different. I find myself focusing on the oddest things-sounds that I am sure I never noticed or heard before. In a crowded place it takes an effort of will to stop listening to the cascading overlap of sound which seems both wonderful and terrifying at the same time. In quiet places I hear the settling of the house, the buzz of bees at the flowers outside the closed French doors of the balcony and the dusty, soft thud of one of them occasionally bumping into the glass. Scents are sharper, more complex; I find myself standing stock still to try and identify the increased information. My vision is acute to the point of making me feel somewhat feverish if I think about it too long.

The effects are the strongest after one of Louis’s more generous draughts but it’s harder to pinpoint anything at all then because of his presence, the smell of his blood and my insane preoccupation with the how exquisite the touch of his fingers, his mouth, his painfully sharp fangs feel on my body.

There is no denying my eagerness for physical intimacy with him—it’s always been there, that longing. The time when he and Lestat took me to their bed for several nights of completely off the charts mind-blowing sex, I thought I might actually die from sensation. Afterward, Louis was much less restrained in showing affection toward me, always in unexpected ways and at unexpected times.  

In some ways I was used to that because Louis doesn’t seem to mark time; neither does he take much notice of where he is or what might be taking place around him; if he is moved to say or do something at a given time, he just does it. Very often he will come to me and wordlessly lie beside me, absorbing the heat from my body; he’s said quite often how he loves to feel that, especially if I’ve been asleep.  

This new layer, the increased blood sharing—it makes everything even more shattering. I don’t know how else to put it, I just know that when he allows me to drink from him I feel like I am flying apart and completely whole at the same time. When he chooses to drink from me it’s an orgasmic thing, not just in my loins, but in my mind. The time I spend with him doing ordinary things have become, to me at least, extraordinary. Again, he does not differentiate though he is clearly aware of the tumult in my mind, often taking time to reassure me or to relate a moment in time when he felt a similar thing. He asks questions, interested in how I put things into language; he comes into my head as easily as he comes into my body and he’s welcome, Always, always welcome.  

The strangest thing of all is I know I’ve been different for years just because of my association with him, of the necessary secretiveness of my life. Now I am feeling inexorable changes that have been accumulating incrementally—it might kill me or it might turn me into something other than what I am. I should be afraid, but I’m not.  

I looked in the mirror again. The bruises were mere shadows, barely there at all.


	18. The Berkshires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis is spending time with Brian - peaceful time - when he gets a phone call from Lestat.

Louis

The Berkshires

When the long-silent cell phone rang, Brian and I were sitting together on the wide porch listening to the rotted ice on the lake below groaning eerily as it wrenched itself asunder. We’d spent much of the winter in the western Berkshires and I’d come back to myself by slow degrees

After my angry rampage in Central City I wanted to get out of New Orleans for a while, go somewhere cold and quiet, a place that did not remind me of Lestat at each and every turn. Brian had suggested his cabin, a place he’d bought years before. He came here sometimes to clear his mind of the exigencies of living the life that he does. There is pressure in holding secrets and a certain loneliness; who can blame him for needing a place to decompress? In all the years he’s had it he has never spoken of it much and this was the first time I’d ever been here. I found liked it, simple and small yet completely comfortable, it was perched near the edge of a granite shelf that jutted out over a good-sized lake. It had a sturdy porch that wrapped around the house to the back which overlooked the lake. There was a furnace but it was there mainly to keep the plumbing from bursting during the cold months; Brian liked the heat that radiated from a lovely antique Pearl Kineo woodstove which he kept going with stove lengths of wood brought in from the neat stack on the side porch.

A late January blizzard blasted through the mountains over a three day period, essentially closing the cabin off from the world at large. The long nights were spent beside Brian, ensconced in the deep bed heat of his sleeping mortal body or drinking slowly from him, the briny luscious blood that he offered so freely. I spent nights fucking him into dazed bliss, listening to him gasp as he burned for me, crying out when he could no longer hold back. We amused ourselves in more mundane ways too, reading or watching movies. He taught me snowshoeing and I enjoyed it to an absurd degree. Moving along in such a primitive fashion in the starlight, crossing and re-crossing the frozen lake seemed dream-like, something from the distant past when everything moved more slowly.

“Are you going to answer that?” Brian asked. For all the mildness of his tone, he was watching me carefully as I pulled the phone from my pocket.

It had been Brian that made sure it was kept charged.  

I thumbed the screen and he rose to go inside and give me my privacy. I gestured for him to sit back down.

“Lestat.” I said. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“God, I miss you.” he said and much to my chagrin, I felt my heartbeat quicken. “Louis, wait – No, I didn’t just call to tell you the obvious.”

“That is painfully clear; I haven’t heard from you in months.” I let out a measured breath “I will spare you the prologue and assume there’s something you need from me.”

“You do know me so well.”

“ Right. Well, what is it?”

“Louis, you know better than anyone how impulsive I am, how I get caught up in the flow of things and don’t think about what might…”

“What have you done now?” I said stiffly. “Why is it you only call me when you get yourself into trouble? For that reason alone I should have nothing to do with your crisis. What is it this time? Who have you gotten involved?”   “Tristan.”

“Ah yes, of course. You’re in Italy. I expected his name. What have you done?”

He tried in brief to explain how, in sharing his blood with Tristan, certain changes had become evident – I was spared the graphic details of any intimate encounters, yet I could not help but see it in my mind's eye."  

“I don’t expect you to find good in any of this, Louis. I know over and over how I let you down and all I can say now is that in this, I need your judgment and diplomacy – those traits I seem to lack? I know I have no right to ask it of you. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

There were more than miles between us now.

“And I do miss you. I know that’s probably not any more believable than anything I’ve said in this conversation, but if you believe nothing else, after all is said and done you know you’re still…”

“Spare me, Lestat—I have heard it all before. I’ll be there in a few nights.

I’ll call you when I’m on my way to the villa.”

I closed the connection and as I did so I unbuttoned the collar of my jacket to allow the early morning cold to creep in—better cold right now than hot. Cold facilitates focus. By the end of that little conversation, believe me, cold was the last thing I felt. “I need your judgment, Louis. I’ve made a terrible mistake, Louis. Please, Louis.” It has become far too regular a chorus for my liking. Did I say I closed the connection between Lestat and myself? As if it could be that simple. As if I ever could.

Lestat spends time on mountains with monks—what did an aesthete like his recently passed Khetsun think of him? I have wondered that and I have wondered what wisdom Lestat takes away from such a person. The conversations we have had since he left New Orleans—no, since he left me— have been few and far between. Then, one night some weeks ago after he’d decided to return to Ravello, he called me. He was gleeful this time, barely able to suppress his libidinous joy at the prospect of time with another beautiful young man. He didn’t come right out and say that and I don’t expect that he knew I could hear it in his voice, even as he placed his disclaimer on the proverbial table by referring to the abrupt departure of the Mafioso that had taken up residence there as his reason for the return. That was a few months back and that was also when, as Brian so eloquently put it, I lost my shit.

Now, this: I dropped the phone between my feet, resisting the urge to crush it into so much toxic dust beneath my heel. I’d considered leaving the damned thing behind; I wished now that I had for it would have served Lestat right. I glanced at Brian, reading the tension noticeable in the tightening of his brow. He has a rare gift; drawn out silences don’t unnerve him and he is comfortable with quiet, content to wait until I wish to speak or until he himself has something worth saying.    

It isn’t something he learned from years with me, he has been so all the time I have known him. I don’t even think such a thing can be learned; you’re either like that or you aren’t.

His other gift is his calm affability; I had needed that very combination more than I had believed possible. I have long held a great deal of affection for Brian; I love him well for many reasons yet for years I held him at arm's length and in doing so I feel I did him and myself a disservice. I was surprised at the sweetness drawn from the joining of our bodies, the ecstasy he reached when I penetrated his flesh with my teeth. Intimacy grows in such circumstances; physical closeness drew from him emotions long held imprisoned, things he had been unwilling or unable to give voice to. We had long, meandering conversations enhanced by the feel of his warm hands caressing me. Sweetest of all was the dazed sense of quiet joy that radiated from his mind. How altogether different from the volatile passion and devastating, often overwhelming need I feel for

Lestat. Coming to this place brought me some sense of peace and Brian's adept reading of how I was feeling at any given time went a far way toward allowing my wounded heart to heal.  

I was doing Brian no favors; it is entirely possible that I might even be setting him up for a fall that could easily kill him or do him irreparable harm, though that is not my intention at all. Was this any different than what Lestat had done to Lucas? What was now happening to Tristan? How much of our blood was too much? How much contact was too much? I watch Brian closely to try and gauge these effects and have for all the years I have given him small amounts of my blood, but how could I know what was happening to him on a cellular level, a chemical level—an emotional level? Discussing it with him was honest enough, I suppose, but I have never let myself think that we were on even footing – mortals fall to us easily whether it is in love or in violence.

“You heard, obviously.”

Brian nodded, his eyes trained on the white mist hovering in the trees, rendering the lake invisible. A great, hollow boom echoed across the shallow bowl of the valley followed by another drawn out, otherworldly groan. Beneath the hush of the woods water could be heard, trickling in channels beneath the melting snow as it found its way back to the lake. The air was moist and heavy, scented with damp mosses on the shoulders of stone exposed by snowmelt and the somehow astringent odor of decaying leaves. Over it all was the titanic scent of the lake itself.    

“We can fly out of Boston. The jet’s too small, but we can rent something bigger.” Brian said in a carefully neutral voice.

“We have a few nights.” I told him. “I don’t relish what’s ahead so I don’t plan on rushing over there.”

“You want me to stay here, then?”  

“I want you to return to New Orleans.”

“I could follow you, you know.”

“You could. I would rather you didn’t.”

Brian nodded almost absently. “I heard everything he had to say. He needs your diplomacy. Seems a little past the diplomatic stages when it comes to a choice between making another fledgling or killing him.” He didn’t bother to try and dampen his emotions, much less hide them. “All your best news seems to come from Italy, doesn’t it?”

“It would seem so.” I acknowledged. I remembered Firenze, wandering the Uffizi with Lestat, the dying light of day on the Arno. Would I ever feel the same about that beautiful country? “But you know…”

He held up a hand. “I know. I know. I don’t need to be concerned for you. Funny…I am anyway. Oh and by the way, you can stop worrying about what your blood is or isn’t doing to me and to hell with your ‘poor, deluded humans’ guilt too, Louis. You guys, you vampires are really pretty full of yourselves sometimes.”  

He was still looking out at the mist, grown bright now, much whiter than even a few minutes ago.

“Are we indeed?”

He smiled a little as he rose, jerking his thumb at the door. “’C’mon Your Majesty. Time for bed.”


	19. With or Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis faces a familiar dilemma: Should he go when Lestat calls or let him get out of his own mess?

Louis

With or Without You

“You can still take a private flight. Anything could happen on a commercial flight.” he’d said in the Boston hotel room we’d taken for the night.

“Come now, Brian. How often have you arranged this trip? I have flown to Paris many times none the worse for wear; this time will be no different. I will arrive with hours to spare and the house in the Quai d’Anjou. Cab to the airport and I will be in Rome and off the hotel.”

“I’m arranging a car to pick you up in Rome to bring you to your hotel there.” he said as he finalized the Paris flight on his laptop.

“Merci, Maman Poulet.” I said.

“Mordez-moi.” he looked up at me and gave me a smile.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He finished the rest of the transaction and closed the laptop. “One way to find out.” he said.

************

It would have been a more secure trip had I listened to Brian’s advice and allowed him to accompany me on a private flight directly to Rome, but I remained adamant that he stay behind; there is no way to predict what might happen when there are several immortals in one place even in the best of circumstances and I didn’t want him in harm’s way. He grew somewhat vehement, but in the end, I did not leave him the choice, not this time. As for security, I have managed thus far to move myself from one place to another without incident over the course of years and in any case I was in no real hurry to get to Ravello.

Brian indeed arranged a driver who dutifully brought me to a ridiculously luxurious hotel. I stood now at the window of my darkened suite, looking out at the spectacular view and wondering why on earth I was here without Lestat.

Without Lestat behind me, examining the amenities and humming something suitably bombastic under his breath. Without Lestat planning which museum we would break into first or which nightclub we would choose for a night of dancing, paying an enormous tab because he felt like buying a drink for everyone in the place.

Without Lestat beckoning me from the bed.

Without Lestat.

I turned from the view and drew he shade and the heavy drapes. Should I call for David? But no—Lestat had said he would be joining us at Ravello and at this moment I wanted nothing more than quiet, hoping that silence and darkness would somehow soothe my agitated spirit.

I missed him. He had been away from me for years and all I really wanted from this trip was to see him again, breathe in his scent—would that ease any of this? On the contrary, it was likely to make things that much worse because I already had more than an inkling of what was ahead. I wonder if he ever realizes how deeply he wounds those of us who love him, how cruel he is when he’s trapped himself into realizing that he’s inflicted yet another injury.

I rolled over and let myself drift.

_“Choose someone Louis, or I shall choose for you.” Lestat snapped. “Surely there is someone here that does not offend your sensibilities.”_

_Surely you understand that I don’t need your help in this.” I shot back. “Nor do I want it.” Frustrated, I turned from him so I would not have to see the brief look of anxious hurt in his eyes. Hurt that would invariably be followed by a baffling, accusatory anger. His mind is closed to me, a tight fist—a locked door. He tells me nothing; he speaks only of the here and now. Nothing of his old life and precious little about the existence we now share for lack of a better word. Lestat doled out bits and pieces of information like a miser reluctantly parting with his gold._

_“If I didn’t push you, Louis, you would starve.” he said irritably, leaning on the rail of the gallery to watch the guests alighting from their cabriolets. We had left New Orleans to follow a round of holiday balls at the plantations that lined the Cane River._

_“It should be up to me, should it not? And what is the difference anyway—to be starved or to be smothered? You seem determined to inflict both torments upon me.” What are you talking about?” Lestat said incredulously. “I push you every night to feed!”_

_“There are other ways to starve, Lestat. And you can’t think that watching my every move is a comfortable thing.”_

_His eyes narrowed and became icy. “How ironic that you should say that when it was you who gave up so much to come to me.”_

_Ah, the knife. He used words like weapons, casually and easily striking the artery, the most sensitive nerve, the surest way to kill what I wanted desperately to grow. I turned on my heel and left him at the rail knowing full well that he would watch me all night, that my every move would be scrutinized to be dissected before me at some later date and I tried to push down the feeling of panic that welled up in my chest. Lestat’s need for absolute possession, for absolute control was frightening in its intensity._

_How I missed the touch of his mind, the intimate ease of learning one another. I had not understood how much it meant to me until I lost it._

I sat up, heart hammering, that last thought burning like a brand in the folds of my brain. I picked up the phone and called him.

“Louis?” he said somewhat breathlessly.

“I will be there tomorrow evening.” I said.

“Where are you?”

“Tomorrow.” I said softly.


	20. Above the Seven Hills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis arrives in Italy: He and Lestat converse on a Roman rooftop.

Louis and Lestat

Above the Seven Hills

**I. Louis:**

We sat together just below the peak of the angled roof, sheltered somewhat from the brisk wind that had picked up as the evening turned to night. We listened in more or less companionable silence for a while to the mortals in the building beneath; we had done this for years, Lestat and I, standing outside the mortal world, looking in, sometimes marveling together at them and at other times indifferent to everything but ourselves. It was neither of these things tonight; I was twitchy, more than a little uncomfortable with all he’d told me upon my arrival.

After a while, I spoke. "You're really going to use what happened with Lucas as a manipulation to get Daniel to feel some obligation to turn Tristan? That's your angle?"

"It's not an 'angle', Louis. It's not even manipulation - I just happen to have superior insight on the situation."

"Superior insight? Oh that's a brilliant spin. You should work for Fox News." I said.

"Well who else am I going to ask to do such a thing? I never even thought of asking you, and the thought of asking David was gone faster than it appeared.

“Has it occurred to you that your reluctance in asking us should in itself give you pause?” Useless, I thought even as the words came from my mouth.

The wind ruffled his hair as he ran a finger back and forth over his brow thoughtfully. I could see his train of thought picking up speed by the expression on his face and the somewhat wild light in his eyes and the brighter that light grew, the more dismayed I became.

He gazed at me with a slight frown. “As you've already pointed out, if he knows about the plan, Armand isn't going to just let Daniel do it without sticking his fingers in and trying to usurp the whole process. I have to make sure Daniel isn’t going to head back to Venice. I’m sure I’ll be able to persuade him. He may not be the addled boy he once was, but of course some of us retain our weaknesses more than others hm? No, no. It will be much more amusing to see Armand’s face when he finds out after the fact, even if it’s a long time coming. ” He looked at me expectantly and I felt my heart sink a little further.

“I think you've lost your mind. I’m sorry, Lestat, but the idea of inducing Daniel to do this as some kind of elaborate way to one-up Armand is rather offensive to everyone involved.”

He continued as though he had not heard me. “ Maybe so. But picture it - once Daniel has agreed...”

“And you'll see to it that he does?”

“He will. I already see it in my mind. You should know by now that the best plays are those that have already been enacted in the playwright’s mind.” He leaned back with a fait-accomplis look on his face. “Before Armand even knows what's going on, the deed is done and there we see... what's that? Why, it’s a fitful little cherub with egg on his face, having been bested by his child.... with a little help from yours truly. The picture of him that way is enough to make me want do it this very night.”

I gazed at him, vexed. “And you'd argue that Armand is the one with insidious motives. I know your reasons for wanting someone else to turn him…” I stopped for a moment, drawing a hitching breath at the deep pain the statement caused within me.

“I know you well enough to know that you’ll get your way come hell or high water. Which is it, Lestat? A swipe at Armand? Or is it a way to get Tristan and have with him what you can’t have with the ones you’ve made yourself? You really are the most insensitive creature, you know that?” My voice was quiet, belying the sudden vehemence that I felt. I looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Why do you even ask anyone for advice? You never heed it, not if it’s something you don’t want to consider.”

I wanted to be petty and just leave, jump from the roof and have the last word for once, but I stayed where I was and turned my ear back to the apartment below, to Lestat’s beautiful Tristan. What was he thinking? Did I even want to know? What I caught from him was a thread of familiar hunger—he was halfway to being Lestat’s fledgling already, I thought. How much blood had he had by now? Plenty by the run of his thoughts. I probed a little deeper, eyes closed in concentration. It was not my habit to use this gift without reason—that reason was standing behind me now. I glimpsed things that were not in the least surprising given Lestat’s nature and a few other things that he had conveniently omitted from the narrative I’d heard from him upon my arrival. I backed away from listening and waited.

**II. Lestat:**

I looked at him without comment, with my mouth hung slightly open. Louis rarely spoke to me or anyone in such a manner simply due to his generally complacent nature. Beyond the initial snarl of warranted impatience, I heard the hurt in his voice and it was this that took me by surprise. He and anyone else would argue that there should actually be no surprise, because as my love just pointed out, I was an insensitive creature, but perhaps we're more taken aback by someone calling out our faults than we are in what harm those faults may render.

"Louis I," But before I began to refute his words, he stood up and moved away in silence. The wind blew back his hair and in his long overcoat, he was an imposing dark shadow in the night. He had come here for me in this time when I claimed to need him, and here I was doing the very thing I least wanted to do, which was make him wish he hadn't come. I got up and walked over until I faced him at the high walled edge of the rooftop.

"I'm sorry." I offered. "I know that probably doesn't mean much. You believe that to me, that word is as freely tossed about as the word love, and I guess I

deserve to be seen so superficially. But you know me deeper than that, Louis, and this?" I gestured outward over the city lights. I guess I meant all of Rome in that moment, if not the whole damned country and any mortals within it who may or may not be standing in rooms four floors beneath our feet. "This," I couldn't find my words because those he'd thrown at me moments before still bled for attention. "What do you mean so I can have what I do not have with the ones I've made myself?"

"You know exactly what I mean. Don't you dare try to be innocent in any of this."

He turned his face away but remained close. "If you're asking me whether there are benefits to not being the one that turns Tristan, I won't argue the point. There are - and yes, one of them is not losing the connection or rather, gaining the connection of mind that I don't have with you or any that I have brought into this life." He moved then, away as if confirmation of this further wounded his spirit and he could not endure close proximity to the weapon. I sensed he was very close to leaving me to my obstinate self for the night.

"But Louis, there are other reasons why I don't want to do it, for benefits - for … will you wait? Listen to me. God, you know I am inconsiderate but at least I want to try to explain myself." I caught up to him behind the ventilation boxes.

"Look at my track record. Who am I close to that I've brought over? You? David?

Who else? No others. Do you think I wish that were different? The truth is, I do but I don't. If I'm honest, I'm not a good 'father' - and obviously you'd be the first to agree with me."

"It's not that, Lestat." He looked off toward the distant harbor where the lights played on the water.

"It is that, Louis." I countered. I lay my hand on his arm and felt that familiar yearning to lose myself in the love I had for him rather than confront these truths. "I don't know if Gabrielle is even still among us, and if she is, where in the world she might be. My own mother! And what about Mona? Do I pose a caring father figure to her? Have I ever been anything to her other than the one to give her this life? Dennis? You told me that you saw him once and he was nothing more than a revenant, and do I care? Do you see me running after him to change that?"

He looked at me long and hard and I didn't have to speak the name I knew he held in his mind. Perhaps she was the ultimate statement of my failure when it came to those I brought into the darkness. "I don't want another fledgling." I admitted softly. "Because I obviously can't manage the responsibility. I am finally happy with the closeness I have with David, who I love and revere, and the love I have with and for you. This..." I gestured again. "I never meant for this to happen, to a point. I shared my blood with him and surely there would be consequences, but you're not above that yourself it seems. I swear Louis, if you tell me to drop all of this now and come back to New Orleans with you, I'll do it, and leave Tristan to whatever fate might arise.”

**III. Louis:**

“That’s not my decision to make, and you know it and you will not lay it at my feet because I’ve said something to make you turn your considerations in another direction; after all, isn’t that what you wanted from me when you said you needed me here? You should know by now that if you ask something of me I will be honest with you. You’ve taken it this far and that boy down there is only just now starting to realize that something’s changed. No, it’s your decision, Lestat. You didn’t mean for it to happen and you’re sorry that it’s gotten to this point. Again. As you so rightly point out, I am not above blood sharing. You know quite well that I have been marking Brian for years and recently have allowed him more liberal access and you know what? I noticed the changes immediately, though they are quite a bit more subdued than what’s brewing in Tristan.” I looked at Lestat pointedly. ”Possibly because, although I have found some desirable companionship with him in your absence, I don’t tend to lose myself as you have so often described. I did mean for it to happen and I was aware immediately that I had precipitated significant changes in him—something I’d thought to discuss with you at some point. I don’t imagine that it matters one way or another to you at this point.”

I stepped away from him; his proximity made it hard for me to think clearly. It was as upsetting to me that he had not thought at all about how his newest scheme to bring Tristan to him as immortal lover would strike right at the heart of my only lasting regret at having been brought into this life. I’ve always known Lestat has a great capacity for love, that his many lovers had very little to do with his feelings for me. Number one in his heart as he likes to say, but I am never certain of what that means when I can be so easily walked away from; when his restlessness is evident just as soon as we have managed to settle into a semblance of, to me at least, tranquility. I no longer cared to contemplate exactly what my place in any of it is anymore. I turned my head to look at him, my beautiful, headstrong, impulsive Lestat. I loved him for what he was, didn’t I?

Because I was never like him, could never be like him.

“Whatever you decide I will support to what degree I am able.” I said at last. “I ask only that you consider more closely your motives: Is it because you love him and you believe it’s the right time to take his mortal life away? Because you believe he has the fortitude for this life? Because you want to freeze his beauty in time? Or is it to belittle Armand? They are all very different things and I have seen you plunge into despair for reasons that had much less at stake.” He took a step toward me, but I held up my hand. “There is one more thing.” I said. ”I hold none of this against that boy, but there is something you need to know. Should he turn on you, turn mad or otherwise hurt or betray you in any way, I will destroy him. Do you understand?”

**IV. Lestat:**

I said nothing in reply. Suddenly I was very tired and wanted nothing more than to be away from this place and in some more serene setting.

“Can we get out of here?” I asked as I walked toward him and reached for his hand. “I’m not ignoring your statement. I just don’t want to be here anymore.

Let’s get away from the city.”

We dropped down easily to the street and found the car. I had an uncanny ability to always find an excellent parking space, even in the most crowded city, and the rental was equipped with a shrieking alarm that warded off anyone thinking of jealous retaliation. Once I had caught two young men armed with several cans of spray paint debating whether or not the sleek black Mercedes deserved a few select designs of their choosing. Not only did they decide against that action, but they were politely informed that if they did not paint nicely over their defacements along the Via dei Serpenti, I would see to it they would never deface anything, ever again. Not surprisingly, the following night, everything had been nicely covered in a double coat of grey. Sometimes intimidation served a greater good. I had come to truly enjoy Tristan’s neighborhood, and thought it funny that the merchants would never presume it was a vampire come to their service.

We headed out toward the villa and as I drove, I couldn’t help but to look at my love in the passenger seat, while he stared out the window. I knew he felt somehow cheated, if not necessarily cheated on, when I left him for other venues and lovers. I also knew that –he- knew it wasn’t done with any intention to hurt him. I’ve long said that there are many in our little coven that could use many long psychotherapy sessions if we could but find a shrink capable of such a task. There surely were conditions from my mortal or even immortal past that made me leave him in such a fashion, abruptly and seemingly without any consideration. Did I somehow still feel unloved from my own father and feel that it was better to leave before I got left? Did I need continual mental stimulation in order to feel validation? Who knows? That might be a whole other novel.  

“You know Louis, ultimately, all of this is not my decision. It’s not about whether I want to get one up on Armand, or anything of that sort. Whether you believe me or not, I do understand that it is about nothing more now than

Tristan’s future.”

“What choice does he really have? I can smell the quantity of your blood within him Lestat, and he’s so close to it now that it would take only minimal infusion to put him over the edge. Surely you can’t think that he’d want to be in that mortal body with the confusing electricity of that much immortal blood running through his veins. I believe it would be torturous, not to mention the fact that in certain situations, he would likely kill other mortals. Is that what you want for him?”

“Of course not.” I sighed. “But it has to be his choice. It doesn’t even matter if I would be the one to turn him, or Daniel, David or even you.”

“Leave me out of it.”

“You know what I mean.” I pulled onto a lonely side road that led down to one of the many sites of lost ruins and parked the car. “Come walk with me.” I invited him with a tender smile.

We headed down into an the barest remains of an old amphitheater, and I turned to him as I seated myself on a broken column. “Louis, I wish I had simple answers – probably I wish that more than you know. Why it seems that I seek out complication is simply one of those immortal juxtapositions we know and love.”

“There are those, yes.” He sat beside to me and looked up into the night sky.

“Heed my warning though, Lestat. Don’t ignore what I said.”

“Oh I heard you. The question is, do you fear that such a thing will happen with Tristan? Do you sense any indication of madness within him now?

“Not at all. I’m simply telling you that I will not stand for it should it arise at any point.”

I was silent but gave a gentle shake of my head. “My defender, always. You know something? I love you.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Sometimes to you, it’s an obscure reference when you hear it from my lips. I perform these grand overtures for you, weddings, Christmas fantasies, and then I flippantly scamper off to something apparently more interesting, for however long it lasts.” He simply looked at me and said nothing. Most often as was the case with my own expressive face, this was when I knew he was really hearing me. “If I could get to the bottom of why I do such things, such as you deservingly said, inconsiderate things, I might then be purely content to live out the rest of our years in committed domestic bliss.”

“I would never ask you to do that and you know it.” He said seriously.

“No, you never would, but maybe you should. Maybe you should try turning the tables on me once in a while, mon cher. Maybe you should run off and have some licentious affair and call me with the lurid details.”

“Would it make a difference? Somehow I think not.” He said. There was an edge of frost to his voice.

“You say you believe me when I claim that I didn’t want any of this to happen, and feel regret for the problems it’s causing you and Tristan and whoever else, and I’m glad you believe my words. But what I really want you to believe Louis, is that when this is all said and done, you’re the one who will take me home and the one who I’ll love for the rest of this damnable life we share.”

“You can’t tell me you don’t love Tristan. If it’s possible, I smell that within him too. He’s confident that you do love him and if you don’t, you better set that straight.”

“I do love him, and he knows it already. I mean look at him, Louis. Look at what I’ve seen in him and what he represents to me. How could I not find love in all he is then?”

“Indeed. You have never much cared to rein in your appetites.”

I shrugged. “And if he chooses not to be brought into this life, I will leave him to his fate. You say he doesn’t have a choice, and if I were the one effecting the turn he may not be able to resist, but with Daniel, who knows? If he refuses…” I paused for several minutes to imagine the scene. “If Daniel allows him to live, then although I will not abandon him I will no longer be by his side where he can dose himself further on my blood.”

He nodded without further comment and we sat there looking at the constellations that had become visible as the earlier wind had carried away the clouds. I wanted to take him into my arms and bury my face beneath the fall of his silken hair. I yearned for him now and always with an ache that was inherently intense. I wanted to forget Rome and anything else for a while and remember the fateful night I brought him to me. I wanted to make love to him and feel him shiver with pleasure under my weight. These things brought a wistful smile to my face despite the conversation and subject that fell between us.  

“Can we go home now?” I asked as I jumped down from my perch.

“Back to Ravello, you mean.” His voice was soft and without inflection. We walked back to the car together and I watched him fold himself into the passenger seat. I touched my fingers to the glass after closing his door.

“Back to Ravello, yes.” I said to myself.


	21. Summoned and Arrived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David Talbot arrives in Italy at his Maker's request.

David

Summoned and Arrived

I leaned against one of the massive columns, barely shielded from the rain, arms folded over my chest. The black leather biker jacket provided insulation between me and the cold stone, although which of the two were the colder would have been up for debate. I gazed at the multitude in Saint Peter’s Square, one expensive boot propped back against the column, the other gathering a smattering of drops blown in by the weather. Although the majority of the faithful were patiently hiding beneath a kaleidoscope of umbrellas, they were all revealed to me . . . at least in the most important ways to a vampire: the strong aroma of hot, pulsing blood, the cacophony of beating hearts, the din of silent and spoken prayers and blasphemies. It was a veritable smorgasbord. I cocked my head to one side, contemplating which one . . . or ones . . . would have a much more personal experience with their God tonight by my hand.

The buzz in the crowd suddenly intensified, and I glanced up to see the whitish smoke that elicited the change. “Habemus Papam!” “Tenemos un papa!” “Abbiamo il papa!” “Nous avons un pape!” “Wir haben einen Papst!” “We have a new pope!” I closed my eyes and shook my head slightly. In anticipation of my hunt, I had opened my mind almost unreservedly; and between the spoken and unspoken words, it was rather overwhelming. Clamping the mind gift shut, I took a deep breath, fighting down the hunger I had allowed to rise to the surface, annoyed at myself for my disappointment.

Instead, I waited with the crowd, vaguely interested in who would be announced to succeed Benedict XVI, the first pope since the Middle Ages to step down from the papacy. I figured while I was here in Italy, summoned by my evermercurial maker, I might as well witness the historic event. (This, of course, was modified from my original plan of ridding the church of a few less savory congregants who had gathered for the vigil.)

Ah, Lestat. I sighed. He knew that I could not, would not refuse him. I thought back to the first time he had summoned me after he had turned me vampire, before my 18th-century Frenchman had finally embraced the 21st-century concept of cell phones. “You are David Talbot,” the Vampire Armand had greeted me in one of the nameless dark Parisian alleys. “Lestat has been calling out for you.” Having read of his history with my maker, I was not quite certain he was not merely testing my gullibility. As such, I had ignored him. The very next night, Maharet’s voice across the distance: David, darling. Lestat is in New York, and he says he needs you. When I rendezvoused with him, he expressed his surprise that I would come. I sighed again, even as I had sighed that night, the memory of the aroma of the wassail so potent, that I might have thought I still held the cup.

Since then, how many times has he called for me? How many times have I come? I could not count, nor would I want to count. I love him. I loved him when I was an old mortal man. I loved him when I was a new mortal man. I loved him even as he killed me. I love him now and always, regardless of his sometimes lessthan-wise decisions. I was not sure why he had summoned me this time. That first time had been to tell me of his being stalked by some otherworldly being. This time, I knew that Louis was also to be here. It could be anything from something of momentous import to our kind to some lascivious desire for a ménage a trois. I sighed yet again.

Glancing up to the Loggia of the Blessings, awaiting the new Holy See, I allowed my mind to drift back to several nights ago when Lestat had rung my cell phone. He caught me gazing over the warm Gulf waters, lost to the spectacle of stars as points of multi-colored light bending and reflected from the waves. The moon was almost new, and the stars in that secluded locale (a tiny private island I have purchased off the coast of Venezuela) would have been awesome even with mere mortal vision. With vampiric sight, I could have been viewing them from outer space, save the rippling, sparkling reflection that made them all the more breathtaking.

I was purposely hiding from myself. I knew that later, I would chastise myself for being the coward that I am. But that night, I simply did not want to think of him, my son, my Enigma. I had been on the mainland in some sort of cantina, performing my requisite hunting. I am fortunate that I do not have to have the blood every night. Yet, I am still too young in this dark life to deprive myself for very long. The thirst begins to eat at my flesh, and my throat will begin to burn as if on fire. It is not a pleasant sensation, and I do not care to experience it if I have no pressing reason to do so.

Out of the proverbial blue, an American song came on the antiquated jukebox: “Cowboy, Take Me Away.” Yes, what a strange song to carry such a burden of memory for me; yet, it crushed me immediately. Suddenly, I was transported back to a warm January night, not so uncommon in New Orleans. My head rested in his lap as he brushed the hair back from my brow and sang to me in a rich mortal baritone. My Enigma. I had been amused by the name, the nickname, he had chosen for himself. He had chosen such an odd moniker because it was actually close to his given name, but far easier to pronounce and remember. As I grew to know him, to love him, it became less and less odd until one dark, evil night, I realized it was entirely appropriate: my Enigma. He would forever be my Enigma.

The gentleman I had chatted up at the bar looked utterly confused as I excused myself and abruptly left. There would be no hunting for me tonight. Instead, I fled—back to my isolated island, losing myself to the stars above, running from the memory of my deepest secret, running from the acknowledgement of my own black heart.

Yes, I was lost to the world; and the jarring, unexpected ring of my phone was an unwelcome interruption to my reverie. “David! You must come to Italy right away! To Ravello, to the villa I had before.” I remember frowning even as I queried, “What is wrong, Lestat?” “Ah, we have . . . family business to discuss, if you will. Louis is coming, as well.” My brow rose in curiosity, and I shook myself from my personal contemplations. “Very well, my love. But you must give me a few days.” I raised my view to the East. “I am not at leisure to travel tonight, and I must return to New Orleans before I can cross the sea.” “That’s fine, David. I will see you when you get here.”

The next night I fed, then arrived in New Orleans well before sunrise. Charles, as is his wont, greeted me at the door as if I came home every morning instead of every few months. “Would you care to be briefed now or shall I wait until you rise?” I mentally beckoned him to follow as I strode through the small house, loosening my clothing as I went. “Very well, sir. There is really not much to report unless you would like the tedium of the planning committee meetings and the stock reports. As you can see, we survived Mardi Gras intact.”

I caught his impatience and boredom only from his thoughts. There simply was not enough to keep him busy in New Orleans, and he wondered for the umpteenth time why I had insisted that he come to attend to my daily affairs. A reserved fellow by nature, he had not made friends as I had hoped. Suddenly cognizant that I was delving into his mind, he tilted his head and projected the thought: It would not be sagacious for a vampire’s gentleman to have close friends.

I smiled, pulling off my shirt. “Yes, Charles. Of course you are correct. As it turns out, I will be leaving tomorrow evening for Talbot Manor. Since everything seems in order here, I thought perhaps you would accompany me. I realize you were there just a few months ago for holiday. However, I have pressing business with Lestat in Italy; and I wanted to check on the Manor while I was in Europe.” Although his expression changed not one iota, inwardly, he could not help the immense pleasure the thought afforded him. He took each article of clothing as I shed them, his quiet clipped accent almost purring. “I would be most agreeable to traveling tomorrow evening. Shall I arrange a private flight, then?” He listened attentively, mentally ordering his day, which would begin in a few short hours, while I rattled off instructions. I suddenly wondered when he would sleep. “Sir?” I had paused abruptly. Hearing my now-projected thought, his mouth twitched in a hint of a smile. “There is always time to sleep when it is more appropriate, sir.

Please do not concern yourself on my account.”

At that, I leaned forward, taking his chin in my hand, and kissed him squarely on those lips. He relaxed into my kiss, but did not reach for me as his arms were occupied with my clothing. When I brought the kiss to a close, I whispered softly,

“Thank you, Charles. Truly. For everything you do.”

“It is my pleasure, David,” he responded in kind. “Always my pleasure.”

Barely before the next sunrise, we were in England. Charles had had to transport me via coffin to Talbot Manor. I spent the next night speaking with the servants and attending to the various correspondences which had not been considered so urgent as to forward to me in New Orleans. I gave Charles instructions for the trivial details that he was so very adept at noticing and overseeing.

An unexpected matter arose with the residential staff which necessitated one more evening at the manor. It was a minor irritation, but then, Lestat had seemed to indicate that his “family business” was not so urgent that I should be concerned. Some of the servants seemed to have forgotten that Charles was the chief of staff, so to speak, even though he was no longer in residence on a permanent basis. The problem had actually arisen when Charles had returned during the Christmas season, but he had always prided himself on handling such matters without my intervention. He had obtained outward obedience from the troublemakers; but I, having always been gifted with the ability to read others’ thoughts, even when mortal, was most displeased with the general attitudes of a certain few. If I had been in a more perverse mood, I would have seen to their humiliation. Instead, I dealt with it as any mortal “lord of the manor,” and let a couple of them go and reprimanded a third for his acquiescence to their mutinous plans.

Afterward, I spent a languid evening in front of a roaring fire, chatting with Charles about what their thoughts had revealed as he relaxed with a bottle of wine. Although Charles would probably have preferred the staff to regard him as merely one of them, I wanted to make it clear that he was far more than my servant. As such, I shamelessly seduced him (he has a relatively low tolerance for alcohol) and made certain that a few of the more talkative staff members witnessed my leaving his room in a compromised state of dress before dawn. The next evening, I was pleased to detect an appropriate amount of respect and even admiration tinged with a touch of jealousy toward him among the rest of the residential staff.

And now I was in Italy. To use mortal parlance, I stopped to “grab a bite to eat” before making my way south to Ravello. What better venue than a large gathering of people who may or may not be missed when they unexpectedly disappeared? Ah, but that was not to be, I supposed. I straightened from my slouch as Cardinal Tauran made his announcement: an Argentine, Jorge Mario Bergoglio, to be called Francis I. Will wonders never cease? The man who soon appeared had not donned the scarlet cape and vestments of his predecessor, but was in simple white. His first words beseeched prayer on his behalf and on behalf of the pope emeritus. Intriguing, to say the least.

Shortly thereafter, I found myself traveling to Ravello. I had planned to hire a car and driver since I had fairly drenched myself during the moderate journey from England. Instead of burdening myself with luggage, I had opted to purchase a change of clothing in Rome, amusing myself with thoughts of Lestat’s reaction to seeing me tricked out in full biker regalia: in addition to the boots and jacket, my ensemble included black leather slacks as soft as butter which clung to my musculature like a second skin and a pullover burgundy silk and wool jumper. However, in my preoccupation at what I had read in Francis’ mind, I had taken to the sky at the first opportunity of discretion.

The man was just what he had portrayed himself to be: a man of humility and piety who was more than a little daunted by what lay before him. In my cynicism, I had been somewhat taken aback by his true sincerity. I was pondering the implications of having such a man in a position of world power until I approached the lights of Ravello, dotted over the craggy mountains.

I could well understand Lestat’s fondness for the villa, which overlooked the Mediterranean. For a fleeting moment, I longed to see it in the sunlight, as distant mortal memories of the deep azure waves played across my mind. Then I shooed the yearning away like a pesky gnat. No sense in regretting what could never be.

Once again, I opened my mind to my surroundings, searching specifically for my brother’s thoughts or for the timbre of preternatural voices. Ah yes . . . there they were. I smiled. Though I had never actually visited the villa, I found it easily, and alighted on the pavers of a veranda. I contemplated whether to knock or to walk through the door uninvited or perhaps to use my gifts to ascend to the balcony outside of the room where Louis and Lestat were conversing. Suddenly, Louis’ quiet voice: “David is here, mon amour,” and Lestat appeared above me on the balcony.

He grinned broadly, fangs flashing. “Come up, David! You finally arrived! Mon dieu, what are you wearing? Come up and get out of those wet clothes!” I heard the manic in his voice even as Louis’ thoughts spoke to me: I have promised to let Lestat tell you his . . . plans in his own way, David, but brace yourself, mon frère and do not be deceived by Lestat’s bluff manner—this is a serious situation. You will not be pleased.


	22. Midnight Revelations ~ Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat holds a family meeting on the terrace. Louis is already aware of his plans, but the news comes as a shock to David.

**Lestat, Louis and David**

**Midnight Revelations ~ Part One**

At Louis’ projected thought, I frowned slightly, but rose to alight on the balcony above beside my beautiful maker. “David, oh David, how magnificent you look!” Lestat fairly gushed as he moved to embrace me. “Thank you for coming.”

I met his firm embrace warmly, kissing his hair, murmuring, “Hello, my love. It is good to see you again.” I nodded over his shoulder at Louis, who had come to stand a few feet behind Lestat, arms folded across this chest. I looked at him curiously, expectantly; but his thoughts were closed and his expression showed not a line. He could have been one of the marble sculptures.

When Lestat had released me, I stepped forward to embrace him in turn. “Louis, my brother.” His embrace was not exactly perfunctory, but neither was it without reservation. I kissed him lightly on the cheek. _Is something wrong?_ But no response was forthcoming. I caught the slightest hint of a sad smile as he stepped back.

I turned back quizzically to Lestat, who had spread his arms before me. “Biker clothing suits you better than I could have imagined. You really do need to indulge these whims of yours more often, you know.”

I chuckled softly as I unzipped the wet jacket. “I thought you would be amused. Who knows? Old dogs and new tricks and that sort. You might even talk me into getting back on that infernal contraption of yours some night, that Harley.” I said, shrugging it off my shoulders. “Hmm, but don’t hold your proverbial breath.” I smiled, pulling my arms from the sleeves, then looking around and sending it to hang on a nearby coat tree.

“Both of you here!” Lestat had stepped back and was surveying us with a pleased smile. “It has been inexcusably long since we’ve gathered.” “Agreed,” Louis spoke almost without inflection.

 _You look . . . tired, my brother,_ I thought to him. _I am concerned for you._

Louis did not respond mentally before Lestat spoke again. “Did you take the time to feed? Rome’s insipid flow of tourists should suit your tastes. There are a lot of people here in anticipation of a new pope, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

I had turned back to Lestat at his comment. “As a matter of fact, I was there this evening; and they have chosen a new pope. Francis, he is to be called. From Argentina, of all places. He is . . . unusual, Lestat. I think you would be enthralled, particularly having a Catholic background. At any rate, I couldn't bring myself to feed on the faithful in their celebration.”

“I would feed on the faithful. I would sip their devotions until I was full and pious,” he sniffed in feigned haughtiness then laughed softly. “I think you should have fed. You are what you eat. Think of how devoted you would be.”

I smiled at the jibe. “I am totally devoted, my love. I am here, am I not? And besides, I fed last night.”

“Yes, you are here,” he murmured before an awkward pause. Then, almost abruptly, he turned from me to Louis. “Louis, would you mind giving me a bit of space with dear David?”

Absolutement,” he demurred before silently turning to plant himself in one of the veranda’s cushioned wicker chairs some distance away.

I blinked in surprise, thinking to Louis, _What is going on, brother?_

 _I will be right here, mon frère. Lestat must tell you in his own way,_ the thought came back to me.

Lestat had leaned back against the cliffside wall, his eyes following his fledgling, his husband, with an almost sickeningly sweet expression. I lifted my brow in curiosity, a sense of foreboding creeping up my spine. When Louis had taken his seat, Lestat’s gaze turned back to me.

Since he did not speak immediately, I tilted my head and ventured, “Tell me, darling, why would you insist upon both Louis’ and my being here, only to send him away as soon as I arrive?

“I haven’t sent him away,” Lestat said, smiling lovingly at Louis. “As for the why, where, when and how of your presence here, Louis has already learned the details. I wish to tell you now more personally, si? Do come closer, won't you?”

I glanced also at Louis, projecting a concerned thought his way. _Are you all right, my brother?_

“It’s fine, David.” he said aloud, gazing toward the dark sea. “I’ll be right here.”

I pursed my lips and furrowed my brow, but obediently crossed to join Lestat where he leaned against the wall and turned my full attention to him.

Lestat sighed. “Do you remember, David -- it seems insignificant now, or perhaps fitting, foreshadowing, I am not sure -- but you'll recall the time when you took Joey back to his father and the mess that ensued?”

I frowned at the mention of Joey, wondering what on earth Joey had to do with our being in Italy or with Louis’ dark mood. Joey was the younger brother of one of the mortal companions who had lived with me several years back. He had been a troubled lad, and I had intervened to save him from the dire consequences of one of his more inane decisions. His father had thought, instead, that I was the cause of his compromised condition. “Are you referring to the first time? When

Mr. McIntyre broke his hand in his attempt to assault me?”

“Yes, that's what I'm thinking of - the night Joey kissed you. For a time, you were concerned about him as he seemed to crave your blood. Of course, wise as you are, you stopped him in his tracks where his ideas of further consumption were concerned.”

My frown deepened. “Yes. As I recall, the lad craved blood to the point I had to bribe him to eat normal mortal food afterward.” The drunken 18-year-old had impulsively kissed me right after his father had bloodied my mouth by punching me with sufficient force that my fangs had cut into my lip.

“Just so.” Lestat said. “Now, it would be something if each immortal came programmed with the reserve that you exercise so well, David; but of course, that's not the case, is it? Some of us are . . . more impulsive, and for that reason, you with your wisdom might find yourself in the repeated position of assisting the impulsive one with the consequences of those actions. That then, is the why.”

I blinked. “I don’t think I’m following you, Lestat. What has any of this got to do with why we are here?”

“David, you and I have had memorable intimate encounters, you'll agree. Do you admit that you've seen me in such moments when it seems that I am somehow beyond even what little self-control I usually have, if not in fact somewhere completely beyond my own consciousness? Do you see that, if you close your eyes and recall our passions? Not all the time perhaps, but often.”

Now I was completely lost. He had taken a leap from an incident about which he had mocked and scorned me for months to images of himself in passionate abandon with me. The only common ground between the two is the kisses and the blood. What bloody kisses had to do with our being in Italy was beyond me. Or perhaps it was lack of control that was the commonality that I was missing: first Joey’s, then Lestat’s. Still, I could not follow the progression of thought. I glanced up at Louis to see if he would come forward with some mental clarification. Surely he was more acquainted with Lestat’s out-of-control intimate behaviors than anyone else.

_He must go about this in his own way, David._

My visage must have given some clue to Louis’ and my mental exchange. “Hear me out,” Lestat quietly insisted. “I'm trying my best to remain level-headed here David.” He glanced first at me and then at Louis beyond. Whatever my expression revealed, I felt it go stony as surely as if someone were pouring quickdrying cement into a mold. The foreboding I had been feeling had turned into fullfledged dread. I waited in silence for my lovely maker to continue.

“Lestat, perhaps you should not be quite so round about?” Louis said without turning his head. Lestat smiled at Louis. This smile was not the loving one he’d worn earlier; there was hard edge to it. I glanced between them before Lestat met my eyes.

“Very well, David. Tristan and I have been sharing blood since I first came to Italy to see him. There was a hiatus when I was back with Louis and Tristan was traveling. Since I've been back here now some months, the sharing has intensified in our intimacies. Certain consequences have appeared to me.” His expressive face had gone just as stony and cold as mine felt. “Is that direct enough?”

I blinked yet again, attempting to absorb not just the words and meaning behind them, but the implications behind the meaning. “Tristan? Tristan from . . . from on-line? **That** Tristan? My God, Lestat.”

He shrugged slightly. “I tried to be subtle in my explanation, but yes - that Tristan. He is suffering changes, and I do mean to the point, David, that the choices now are to turn him or kill him. I see no third alternative, as I said to Louis.”

“And now he craves your blood.” I tried mentally to catch up with the words, still trying to grasp that my impulsive, charismatic creator actually sought out and spent intimate time with one of the manifold mortals who solicited his attention via the internet. Granted, he had spoken of Tristan, of his fascination and amusement with the entity behind that name, for a good decade. Still, I stared incredulously at him. “Good God, Lestat! Are you going to turn him?” My mind reeled with the implications of setting such a precedent. It would be better, even, to kill him than to begin the practice of seducing and turning the legions of online admirers into vampires.

Lestat turned away and looked out over the sea, mute.

“Lestat doesn't want to be the one to turn him.” Louis said flatly.

Again, I struggled to take in the implications. I blinked again as I hit upon the most obvious explanation for why Lestat would want me in Italy. “No! No! Absolutely not! Do not even bother to ask me, Lestat. I will not turn that young man.”

“I wouldn't dream of asking you.” Lestat muttered.

I gasped. How could he even think that Louis should be the one? I thought of Louis’ recorded words after he made Madeleine for Claudia: _“What has died in this room tonight is the last vestige in me of what was human,“_ Then I thought of Merrick, **my** Merrick, ultimately lost to me forever. But because Louis had turned her, he had tried to immolate himself; and I had almost lost them both. “If you ask

Louis, well, then you don't love him. Don't even try to pretend it! It would kill Louis to turn another vampire.”

Lestat lifted his head to the breeze and then turned to look at us with a sad, brief smile. “I'm not asking Louis. But now at least you know.”

Louis murmured in agreement, “I am harder to kill than it might seem.

However, Lestat has not asked me to do this.”

I swallowed at Louis' words, remembering the blackened form in his casket with the newly-turned Merrick crying over him. But again, I was confused: If we were not asked to Italy because he wanted us to turn Tristan, then, why? Was he asking us to kill him? Surely not! Lestat had never exhibited the slightest bit of squeamishness when it came to destroying either humans or vampires if it suited him. Even when he was in and out of consciousness, lying on the floor of Saint Elizabeth’s, he shown not an iota of remorse at clearing New Orleans of dozens, perhaps hundreds of vampires and issuing the edict that he was claiming New Orleans and its immediate environs for himself and his coven. Was not even Quinn fearful of approaching him, making arrangements for his mortal family in case Lestat offed him without giving him a chance to explain? As for mere mortals, what was one more mortal to Lestat? He could probably populate a small country with the souls of those whom he had dispatched to their next spiritual destination.

“Then,” I twisted my mouth into a small, bitter smile, “what **did** you have in mind? I don't see why you have any inhibitions either about killing or about adding another sibling to our family.”


	23. Midnight Revelations ~ Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The discussion continues. Lestat is asking himself why he even wanted David and Louis to come to Italy - and they're wondering the same thing as they discuss their Maker's callous plans.

**Lestat, Louis and David**

**Midnight Revelations ~ Part Two**

Instead of answering my query, he pulled himself from the wall beside me and walked to the reinforced glass-fronted veranda doors. “Let’s go inside. The wind is hurting my eyes.” Louis rose wordlessly and followed him. I brought up the rear of our little procession, and the doors closed and latched behind me, most likely Lestat’s doing.

Fire jumped to life in the hearth of the opulent sitting room with his glance before he sank down on the edge of the couch, resting his arms on his thighs and lowering his head into his slender hands. Suddenly, Louis turned around, his voice bitter and clipped. “There was a plan, was there not Lestat?” He looked from Lestat to me. “Not a very well-thought-out one, to be sure, but then Lestat does not think he would be a good enough father.”

My brows rose at Louis’ outburst, at his tone. Louis has been in New Orleans since before it was part of the United States. As such, he generally sounds as American as any native, although he has avoided retaining either the Creole or the deep South accent that so many in that region exhibit. One must have a good ear to distinguish his Old French inflection from time to time unless he chooses to converse in his native language. Yet, these words were as noticeably accented with his French tongue as mine and Charles were with our Queen’s English. Sliding silently into a lushly brocaded chair, I rested my elbows on the arms and templed my fingers against my chin as I listened.

Lestat sighed as he raised his head to look at Louis. “That's right. I'm a bad father. I don't want to make Tristan. ‘The choice I never had’ and all that. it's a farce.”

“Ah, but it's fine to bring him to this point, though, oui?” Louis shot back.

“I don't recall being given a choice,” I murmured with a small, twisted smile.

“Nor, it would seem, has Tristan been given any sort of a choice in this.”

But before I could ask what Tristan thought of his situation, Lestat was barreling ahead. “I'm planning to propose his making to Daniel. Daniel has no fledglings.”

“Daniel?” I furrowed my brow at the thought.

“Daniel has turned himself around -- he's not a glue-sniffing idiot like some still believe. His idiocy occurs when he is dependent on Armand; and if he has a child of his own, that should be remedied,” Lestat reasoned.

I was unable to keep from snorting at his logic.

“Derision is expected, David. What would you have me do? Kill him to punish myself? Or perhaps you or Louis should go ahead and kill him. Would that be better?”

“What would I have you do?” Louis interjected. “Well, I don’t know, Lestat. Maybe stay with me for some little while? We are apart more than we are together.” I watched in silence while my characteristically calm, cool, and collected elder brother finally gave vent to frustrations that had been building for some time.  

“Why let a little thing like a wedding stand in the way?” he continued. “I wondered then why you would even want to do such a thing, for even I understand that in the course of centuries it would be improbable that any two immortals might not need some kind of change now and again; but then, you have always been one for the grand gesture, have you not?” He punctuated his words with a broad flourish of his arms before bringing them back stiffly to his sides and lowering his voice. “The really amusing part is how I thought maybe, just maybe you meant at least a little of what you’d said.”  

Lestat turned to Louis, who was as angry as I’ve ever seen him, though tightly controlled, a muscle in his smooth jaw clenching. But before Lestat could respond, Louis continued. “You speak of punishing yourself. We're going the sarcasm route then, Lestat? You left out the part about wiping Armand's eye with this plan of yours. Why don’t you explain your grand plan to David?” “Armand?” I queried, again wondering what I had not been told.

“He's right, David,” Lestat admitted, defiant. “Part of asking Daniel is to spite Armand. I won't deny that aspect tickles me more than a little.” He was still looking up at Louis. “Is that what you wanted me to say, cher?”

“Lestat! Please!” I rose, unable to sit any longer. I looked from my brother to my maker, my heart breaking for Louis. I began to pace before the fire. “Lestat, you are putting us both in an impossible situation: ‘Turn him or kill him.’” I stopped and looked directly at Lestat, “Killing Tristan would punish you because you can't get your digs in at Armand?” I paused, glaring at him. “And yet, you have the unmitigated audacity to think you are punishing yourself? Have you taken no thought for the poor young man at all?” Have you taken no thought for what you are doing to Louis? But I knew he could not hear me.

Lestat followed my pacing with his gaze, his voice deadly cold. “I said if I killed him it would be punishing myself. Listen to me, and watch your anger. Of course I have thought of Tristan. That is why I cannot just leave him in his present state.”

I took a deep breath to calm myself. I was unaccustomed to being reprimanded for my temper. I shook my head slightly and straightened my posture, taking care to compose my features before I slowly turned to face him.

“Forgive me, Lestat.”

But he was looking at Louis, whose face was already a veritable mask. Although he was standing completely still, his fists were tightly clenched at his sides. “Louis, you are correct as always. I should have stayed with you. I should be faithful and loyal and devoted -- to you. We should have been Princes of the Quarter, but I didn't. I don't. I'm here and this is the way it is, and maybe I should be condemned for my behavior and my actions.” He paused, then added with a quiet defiance, “But it wouldn't change a thing.”

“No. It won't,” Louis murmured so quietly, mortals would have had to strain to catch his words.

Lestat seemed to ignore his response as he glanced between us and continued. “It is to the point that the decision will be made. The only possible alternative is to leave him forever to whatever fate arises. Maybe the infusion will render him mad and he'll go on a killing spree. Maybe he'll kill himself even and save us all the effort. Is that better?” Again, he paused dramatically. “No, it's not.”

There was an uncomfortable silence before I asked quietly, “So . . . what do you want of us, Lestat? Our blessing?”

He scowled. “I don't even know anymore, David. At first, I thought to call you both here because I was excited at this whole prospect, but now I wish I could wash my hands of the whole thing.”

“Excited?” My voice almost broke as I resumed my seat with hopeless resignation.

“When will you speak with Daniel?” Louis queried in that same quiet, wooden voice.

“Yes David! Excited. Why shouldn't I be excited?” he spat, jumping up and gesticulating wildly. Then he turned to Louis, moderating his voice. “I don't know. Soon. But you should know, I haven't given him any more blood since seeing these changes. Not that it matters now, but . . . .” He gave a nonchalant shrug.

“He's begged me but I've declined.”

Just barely perceptible, a bleakness crossed Louis’ face, and I blinked at Lestat’s manic behavior. “What exactly excites you? The prospect of a new fledgling? The idea of besting Armand?” I paused, my mouth twisted in a frown.

“Tristan's agony and torture?” I paused again, then added, “Lestat, my love . . .

you and I never were tortured by the bloodlust while we were human.”

As if not registering my last sentences, Lestat burst out, “Excited by all of that. Alive!” It was his turn to pace as he continued his ranting. “David! Feeling!” He abruptly turned to pierce me with his blue flame eyes. “I think you know a little something about how it feels to hold mortal life in the balance of your hands, do you not?”

I suddenly felt cold inside and out as his fierce gaze pinned me to my chair. He was referring to Enigma. My Enigma, whose life I had, indeed, held in the balance of my hands, and whom I had unmercifully killed, condemning him to eternal darkness in spite of his tearful pleas both spoken and silent. Lestat knew he had hit his mark, and his voice went deadly quiet, “Damn you that you want to condemn me when you know how it feels.” I swallowed at his accusation.

Louis murmured, “I don't think it was torture for the boy at first. Lestat always thinks he has control over things and this was a misjudgment, I'll wager.” He sighed quietly, “But a costly one.”

I turned my eyes to him, whispering so low that mortals would not hear, “A misjudgment? . . . Are you serious?” I struggled not to roll my eyes at the gross understatement.

“You're very right Louis. I didn't think it would go so far, but it has,” Lestat spoke, ignoring my whisper. “Now, I will make arrangements to turn him. I won't be the one to do it; and so what? I will step up and admit that I'm too damned selfish to do it even though I should be the one since I began the mess. If Daniel won't do it . . . maybe I'll have to hunt down another of our kind. But you better believe yes, I'll be the one to take control. Louis is right. I like being in control, even when I'm not. I don't expect you to condone it or hell, even understand it David.” He was pacing again, gesticulating as he spoke. “Maybe I should have just handled the details and then told you both once it was done. But I thought . . . I thought that maybe . . . ,” and he walked away, not finishing his thought.

As if not having heard Lestat’s last, Louis turned to me, his eyes blazing, his voice raised as it seldom is. “Yes. A fucking misjudgment. How is that hard to believe? After all, it happened not that long ago, didn't it?”

I blinked again, taking in Louis’ outburst, which had also attracted Lestat’s attention from the shadows. Suddenly, Louis straightened, his expression stony, his voice cold. “I'm thirsting. I need to hunt. I will be back before dawn.”

Are you all right? Do you want company or solitude? I thought to him while Lestat looked between us, suspecting our silent communication.

I have to get out of here. I wish to be alone, thank you, came the reply.

I nodded at the silent thought then turned my gaze to Lestat, who spoke slowly, still sweeping his gaze from me to Louis, “I'll assume you're both lodging here. Go, Louis. Feed. I hope to speak with you toward morning.”

Receiving his dismissal, Louis abruptly turned and left the room without another thought or word.


	24. MIdnight Revelations ~ Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Louis departs in a justifiable cloud of anger, Lestat speaks to David further before David too needs some fresh air.

Lestat and David

Midnight Revelations ~ Part Three

“David, come up here into the darkness and sit by me,” Lestat bade me. I listened until I could no longer hear Louis’ presence, then I rose slowly and came to join Lestat on a luxurious couch. He turned toward me. “I don't know that I'm asking for a consultation. I don't quite know what I'm asking for in having you both here. All I know is when I saw those changes in Tristan, when I realized the gravity of the situation; the first thing I felt was the need to call both of you.” He paused, his gaze suddenly far away. “Maybe to see for yourself. Maybe to tell me it's better, despite my love for him, to end his life and spare him the reality of our existence; maybe to just help me forget it has even come to this point. I don't know.”

He continued before I could speak, his eyes slowly coming to meet mine. “And now I see your anger and Louis' hurt . . . again. God, I hurt him over and over and I hate it. I should have just put an end to it and dealt with my own actions. After all, if I killed another mortal, hey, no big deal right?” His voice began to rise.

Catching his hand and bringing his fingers to my lips, I murmured against them, “Lestat, you know you can't leave Tristan craving your blood. Kill him. Turn him. Do what you wish. You know well that you have our unending love, regardless. But darling . . . ,” and I kissed his fingers again tenderly, “do not deceive yourself about this matter. It is not about making another fledgling.”

He seemed not to hear the love, the pleading in my voice. He stiffened slightly, his mouth turning cruel, his gaze, imperious. “Enlighten me. What is it about?”

I closed my eyes and sighed, rubbing his smooth fingers against my cheek. “I, I don't know, Lestat. I only know that you've never had any compunction whatsoever about making fledglings; or for that matter, about killing mortals. So, my love . . . ,” I slid his fingers back to my lips, murmuring against them again, “I implore you to figure out what it is that you want from this situation.” Keenly aware of being the proverbial pot pointing out the blackness of the kettle, I contemplated how to continue in light of his reference to Enigma.

Once again, he responded before I ventured to speak, “I want this situation over with, that's what I want.” He shook his head. “I want to be home. I want to figure out why I do these things and hurt those I really love - who have done nothing more than love me. Tristan loves me. Christ . . . . I don't know. I want Daniel to do it; I want to have Tristan in our lives.” Abruptly, he rose and began pacing again, his voice rising. “I don't know. That sounds like a cop out, but I don't fucking know!” I sighed but dared not interrupt, merely watching as he paced. “It’s done and over with. If Tristan is lucky, Daniel will agree. If not, then I'll do what I must. I will not let my blood infect him as it did Nicolas.”

I frowned, sadness infusing my entire being. He had missed my point. Nevertheless, I followed his line of conversation, and attempted to bring him back around. “But why must it be Daniel? Is it Armand? You know that Daniel feels responsible for Lucas. And you should know, Lestat, honestly, love, you should-why Louis is so hurt. First Lucas, now Tristan on the very heels of that . . . ,” I groped for the word, “fiasco.”

Again, it was as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “Let me tell you that a week ago when I sent him away, I saw him in my mind, David. I lay in bed and followed him as surely as if I were by his side. He went home with a man he met at a bar in Rome, fucked him to the point of delirium, and then do you know what he did? He cut him repeatedly. He almost killed him. He cut him and fairly had an orgasm from the blood alone as he put it on his body and tasted it. I saw it all.” He continued to pace as he ranted, “I know why Louis is hurt. How can you think I don't know his pain? I am his pain. I know - I've been terrible to him. If you ask me, Louis would be far better off without me in the long run; but regrettably for him, he loves me.”

We all do, I thought, knowing that he could not hear me. As such, he didn’t pause.

“I am his addiction and he is mine, and I know all about why my behavior wounds him. I know it every day, and yet I do it anyway; and that is for me to figure out if I can -- I want to really . . . ,” he protested. “But it doesn't change this mess with Tristan; and as to why Daniel,” he laughed bitterly, “well, you don't want to hear my logic concerning Daniel's regrets.”

“Try me,” I murmured. “Surely you aren't as insane as you seem about all of this.” I felt myself becoming angry again as he acknowledged his emotional abuse of my brother, then tossed it aside like so much trivia.

“Daniel's sense of responsibility or lack thereof regarding Lucas is exactly why he will agree to do this. There, I said it. That's my angle. Now hate me more for it if you like,” he stated defiantly.

Attempting to keep my temper, I spoke quietly. “You know I can't hate you.” I frowned, still maintaining firm control of my tone of voice. “You are purposely using Daniel? But why? What did Daniel do to you?”

“Terminology is irrelevant. Call it using, call it manipulating, call it logic and reasoning.” He shrugged then lifted his chin, gazing down at me. “What do you suggest then David? Dropping him off at a hospital with a note pinned to his chest? Killing him? What is a better solution since all of mine seem to have dishonorable connotations?”

“I don't understand why you won't just turn him yourself,” I answered tersely, again having to keep a tight rein on my tone.

“Because I don't want the responsibility. Plain and simple,” he answered just as tersely.

Again, I felt my composure slipping. “The responsibility? For . . . what? You have already acknowledged that you are responsible for the condition of this poor boy.”

“Louis is hurt also because the one thing he craves is the ability to mind share with me. He knows if I don't make Tristan, then I can and will have that with him, and that hurts. It's true enough. I can't deny that to have that ability with Tristan is enticing, but it isn't reason enough on its own. I don't want the role. Is that better phrasing?”

I was incredulous. “You . . . wait a minute. You want to retain the mind connection, which you don't have with Louis -- or any of us; -- but more than that, you just don't want to have the role of his maker? Why not? Have we been so . . . onerous?” I didn’t know whether I was more angry or saddened.

He sighed. “Dear David, this conversation weakens me.” His smile was wan at best. “Listen to me -- I love you and Louis best of all those I've given this life. But what about the others? What about Nicolas? Gabrielle? I don't even think she's alive, David, and what benefit did I lend to her? What about Mona? What about Dennis? I create bastards and madmen, but for you and Louis. There is great responsibility -- there should be anyhow -- and it does not reside here,” he averred, tapping his chest. “I am no good as a role model, immortal or otherwise.”

I took a deep breath, not because of physical need, but in an attempt to maintain reason as I spoke. “Gabrielle is very much among our kind. I hear from her from time to time. Remember that I have had some experience in the jungle,” I demurred with a small, mirthless smile. “Mona . . . Mona and Quinn are just fine, in spite of having to deal with the Mayfairs and all of their intricacies. Dennis . . . ,” I sighed. “I'm sure Dennis is far from a madman. To my estimation, Nicolas is the only madman you've made. “I paused with another bitter smile. “And Armand took care of that for you. You should be grateful.” I wanted to drive home my point without allowing any of my ire to seep into my voice. “As far as I can see, Claudia was the one fledgling you made purely out of selfish manipulation. Are you certain that Tristan will not be for the same reason?”

Ah, but he again missed my point entirely. “I'm certain,” he answered without a hint that he understood what I was trying to make him see. “The only reason I am to this point now, David, is because the alternative is his death; and his brilliance and sensuality deserves to be enhanced, not extinguished. If – when -- Daniel does the deed, the fact that Armand might be incensed doesn't fail to amuse me in some way. But it isn't the reason for doing it any more than wanting the mind share. Now, it's about life or death. Black and white.”

I sighed heavily at his admitted selfishness and his complete lack of compassion. He had the audacity to respond to my sigh with “Right. That's rather how I feel at this point.” With that, Lestat rose with a clasp on my shoulder and a kiss on my cheek. “Second room along the far hall has been readied for you my love. I can't take anymore tonight. I must find my bed.”

I knew not what to say other than “Thank you” in reference to the accommodations he had made for me. My insides were a tumult of anger, incredulity, sadness, offense, indignation. I could not name one positive emotion in the aggregate. I turned my gaze to the balcony, feeling just what Louis had conveyed to me before he left: I had to get out of there.


	25. Unexpected Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving the villa, David finds Louis and they spend their anger and frustrations in a rare and intense physical union.

David and Louis

Unexpected Interlude

I retrieved my jacket and stepped out on the balcony, then closed my eyes and took a deep breath, opening my preternatural hearing to the world around me. I was looking for Louis, of course. Although I didn’t expect him to have his mind open to me, it didn’t take long to find him in the minds of the mortals he passed. He was walking a bit too quickly to pass for normal, head bent, grinding his teeth and occasionally baring his fangs. I flew to within a few feet of him, then dropped so quickly, it seemed to the surrounding mortals as if I had materialized from thin air. Even with that, I was no more alarming to them than Louis was. I fell in step with him silently. He neither acknowledged me nor shunned me.  

As we trod aimlessly along the steep and narrow streets and alleys, I mentally urged him to slow his pace so as not to alarm the mortals, which he did almost grudgingly, still not actually acknowledging my presence. We gradually found ourselves in the seedier side of Ravello where no outside light illumined the darkness.  

An unfortunate but beautiful young man, almost blind with the drugs coursing through him, stumbled out of a doorway right into our path. I caught him to keep from walking into him, and the action was just enough to cause my preoccupied brother to hesitate and turn. Our eyes met for a split second before Louis reached to push his jaw up and savagely tear into his neck. I let out a feral sound between a growl and a moan at the fresh smell of the hot blood, and I brought the lad’s wrist to my mouth.

Needless to say, the boy was quickly spent, and my head swam slightly from the residual drugs. Louis and I dropped him simultaneously; and I reached out, clutching Louis’ shirt to pull his mouth to mine, tasting the sweet, chemical-tinged mortal blood on his tongue. He met my kiss with the same savagery with which he had taken our prey, pushing me back through the doorway from which the lad had come.

Was he pushing me? Or was I pulling him? I neither knew nor cared. I had a vague perception of the back of my knees meeting with some sort of raised pallet, falling back onto a mattress, and taking my brother with me. Our blood-tinged kisses were borne of frenzied desperation, and how our clothing was shed without damage was nothing short of miraculous.  

With a growl, his green eyes flashing, Louis broke away just long enough to flip me deftly face-down. It had been a while since I had been penetrated at all, and far longer since I had been penetrated with such force. I cried out involuntarily, clawing at the padding beneath me, but lifting so as to facilitate the angle and the swift action. His fangs penetrated my flesh with the same feral need, and I heard the snap of one of my ribs as his fingertips grasped my sides. I gasped and growled, squeezing my eyes shut, somehow wanting this, somehow needing this bonding act of mutual despair and frustration, anger and love.  

Lestat. Lestat. Although Louis and I shared affection whenever we were together, we honestly have rarely bedded each other without Lestat between us. Indeed, I couldn’t remember the last time I had even seen Louis in the altogether without Lestat. And yes . . . even now . . . or, perhaps more precisely, especially now . . . Lestat was right here with us.

Louis reared back with a snarl, bruising my hips as he slammed his orgasm into me. Like an adjoining domino, I spent myself into the cloth beneath with my own feral cry. With preternatural movement, Louis was out of me and was sitting on the side of the pallet with his back to me, slender white fingers running through his long, dark silky hair. I rolled to my back, still gasping, feeling the strange tingling sensation as the dark blood healed my wounds.

Without a word, without a thought, Louis scooped up his clothing and was gone.


	26. Interregnum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis stumbles off and has something of a drunken feast, then lands himself back at the villa before dawn.

Louis

Interregnum

 

The night passed in a red haze of blood and anger and when I finally reeled into the courtyard of Lestat’s villa, the sky was pale with the coming dawn. I let myself in, still half swooned and glutted with mortal blood. There was spice there as well, strong, and heady, nearly overpowering; the draught I’d taken from David I realized. I passed the corridor where I knew a secure room waited for me and went up the stairs and out to the cliff walk. The air, as it so often is before dawn, was still and scented with orange blossoms and the pervasive salt scent of the sea. The sea, which was not black, but a soft, restless grey... The walk faced south southeast and I felt the sun hovering below the rim of the world and contemplated withstanding the dawn. Catch some rays, get a little color, eh? It wouldn’t be the first time. I swayed and reached a hand to the rough wall to steady myself.

There came a slight sound behind me and I felt the calm, questioning touch of David’s mind. Brother, come away. This is no time to test yourself further. Are you all right?

Drowning. Drunk on blood and whatever was in it. I am fine. I turned and he slid his arm around my waist, drawing me back into the house. I looked sidewise at him. Drunk on your blood as well, Cher. My apologies for my behavior earlier,

David dear—I had no right to—“

Never apologize. It was—stimulating, if a bit abrupt. His smile was gentle. You had a trying night.

“We both did.” I said aloud as we stopped by the door of my room. I kissed him then, a long, warm kiss and with it a vision from my mind, his savagely beautiful face when we’d taken our victim together.

I slipped from his arms and opened the door to my chamber. “Good day, mon frère.”

With the door closed and secured behind me, I made my way to the bed and lay down in the darkness thinking that I could not bear this anger any longer; I had to step away.

Leaving Lestat was the thing I wanted least in the world. This time, though, he could live with whatever happened; I wanted no part of it and, I wanted no part of him right now, either.

The few things I asked of him after the mess with Lucas had clearly made no impression; what I saw in Tristan’s mind the night Lestat and I had spoken on the roof above his flat sealed my resolve—why shouldn’t Lestat love this young man with a mind that burned like a brilliant flame and a desire for Lestat that quite obviously fed Lestat’s voracious need to take all he could from the banquet that is the mortal world. How long had it been since he’d felt passion such as I absorbed stealing into that boy’s mind? No matter what Lestat said, it was clear to me that what had happened to this point was not something that resulted from becoming carried away, no accident. This was what he wanted and what he had already decided he would have on his own terms. My limbs grew heavy and I welcomed the darkness for it was surcease from pain and from anger and I was weary of both.

# ********

I rose early in the evening and after a moment of listening I made my way to the sumptuous salon. David was there, seated in a pool of warm light with a folded newspaper in his lap. He looked up when I entered. “Good evening, Louis.”

I passed behind the leather wing chair he was sitting in and laid my cheek briefly against the top of his head. “Hello, brother.” I circled his chair seated myself across from him.”

“I expect you know he has already gone?”

“I didn’t think he would stay to discuss things further.” I could easily sense his disapproval and the agitation roiling behind his calm demeanor. I ran a hand through my hair. “I sometimes wonder of he has not gone completely mad. How can he think Daniel would wish to be a party to this wild scheme?”

“He can be very persuasive as you well know. Anything is possible. What of you, Louis?” The concern in his voice touched me.

“I’m none the worse for wear. I have sailed these water before.” I noticed as the words left my mouth that he was looking at me closely. I glanced down and saw then that my shirt was filthy and there was a good deal of blood to be seen on my trousers. “Ah.” I brushed ineffectually at the shirt.

“Perhaps a little the worse for wear.” he said with a slight smile.

“I’m thinking of going to Rome, perhaps flying back to Paris tonight. I see no reason to linger; Lestat has his mind made up and I‘ve had quite enough. Have you any plans?”


	27. Expedient Considerations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David recalls a subtle barb delivered by Lestat and his own turbulent issues with mortals. He then decides to take Lestat up on a glibly offered suggestion, and for this, Tristan may pay the price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Enigma" - As readers may not be able to glean in context, this name belongs (in this tale) to a fledgling made by David some years ago. Additional information can be found in the Livejournal Community of "IndulgentRed" and "IndulgentRed2"

David

Expedient Considerations

When I arose the next evening, I wanted to be anywhere but down the hall from my maker and my brother while Lestat was speaking of being enthralled with yet another mortal boy and even justifying why he must become a member of our coven. As miserable as I felt, I most certainly did not envy dear Louis. I hoped Lestat was not regaling his husband with how he wanted to retain the mind connection with Tristan.

Yet again, I reconfirmed my bachelor status, realizing anew exactly why I could never have such a relationship. The memory of my Enigma threatened to rise even as the thought crossed my mind. Had I not done almost the same thing to him that Lestat was doing to Louis? I wrestled the memory back into the dark closet to which I had appointed it.

I dressed quickly in the togs of the previous evening, but when I listened for my companions, I heard only one slowly beating heart. Lestat must be gone, I thought, because, though I did not discern Louis’ thoughts, it was not the same as being unable to perceive my maker. If I were to explain it, it would be like finding a locked door as opposed to finding no door at all. Additionally, Lestat had always been prone to rise at the very moment the sun dipped below the horizon, well before any of his fledglings.

I pondered whether to stay or to go; but in the end, my blood-stained clothing threw the balance to leaving, at least long enough to acquire a modest wardrobe. I also needed to feed again. I had taken another victim after Louis’ departure, partly to facilitate healing, and partly from sheer thirst. I could have gone another night without the blood, but for what Louis had taken from me. Sensibly, I chose one who did not contain the chemicals of our mutual victim. I could not say the same for my brother, who had also obviously taken another victim or two; for when I arrived shortly before dawn, he was literally staggering with what he had imbibed. If his subsequent victim(s) had been clean, he would have recovered even more quickly than I did since he had also taken from me.

I flew to nearby Salerno, contemplating whether to take another victim or to spend the time to acquire enough “little drinks” to slake my thirst. As it turned out, I immediately stumbled upon a delectable thief, and my choice was easily decided. The next order of business was choosing well-tailored but conservative wool trousers, starched cotton dress shirts, and another silk/wool jumper, as well as a tweed jacket that complemented the ensembles. After purchasing suitable dress shoes and making arrangements for delivery of what I did not wear, I quickly made my way back to the villa.  

Almost as soon as I was settled into one of the more comfortable chairs, Louis came in looking for all the world like a serial killer coming off a bender, though he was still strikingly beautiful. Yet, for his uncommon state of dishevelment, what concerned me most was the aspect of utter hopelessness in his eyes.

“Have you any plans?” he asked, just as my cell phone rang. I raised my brow as I pulled it out. Charles. This was most unusual. As I have previously alluded, Charles prided himself on handling every piece of business without having to consult me. I could not recall the last time I had received a call from any member of my staff, and certainly not Charles; the only occasion that came to mind was when I was informed of my mother’s death. When my father had passed, it had been a telegram. I wondered what on earth could be of such import that he would deem it necessary to call me. I envisioned Talbot Manor burning to the ground.  

“Charles?” I listened with preternatural hearing, trying to discern background voices and noises, but it was only his quiet, clipped voice I heard.

“David. Forgive me. I . . . I wanted . . . ah . . . ,” he trailed off, then he whispered, “Where’s the bloody telepathy when I need it?” obviously to himself, perhaps forgetting that I could hear him anyway.

“Just tell me, Charles. What is it?” I straightened in my chair, my brow furrowed. Louis had risen and wandered away to give me privacy.

“Again, forgive me, sir. Ah, how are you? Is, ah, is all well with you and M. Pointe du Lac?” his embarrassment was evident in the tone and cadence. I was so incredulous that he would call me with such a mundane query, that it took a full second to respond.

“We are well, Charles. What would inspire you to inquire of our well-being? Is there something you think I should know?” My mind was flitting from one scenario to another, having in the back of my mind Lestat’s current London visit, wondering if something had transpired this evening that we missed by not having accessed the BBC or CNN.

Here, he hesitated so long I would have suspected the line had gone dead had I not been able to detect his breathing. Finally, he all but blurted, “I know why you are there, David, what business you have with M. de Lioncourt. Brian called me. Brian is not very demonstrative of any anxiety; and as such, I’ve never known him to be frantic. Yet, he is as close to frantic as I have ever heard him. M. de Pointe du Lac ordered him to return to New Orleans, which is not his wont.” He paused just long enough to take a breath. “Brian is in fear for M. de Pointe du Lac, David. I told him I would call to ascertain his safety. I . . . ,” here he hesitated again, then bravely pressed on. “I wanted to ascertain your safety, as well, David. I do realize that both of you are virtually indestructible. Yet, you are meeting with one of the few beings who hold that power over you – both physically and emotionally.” His tone took on a defiant aspect. “I will accept any reproof you deem deserved, but I reserve the right to be concerned.”

I looked at Louis, who was gazing out the French doors, arms folded over his chest.   Finally, Charles had spent his words, and I spoke. “Please call Brian and tell him that Louis is . . . .” What was Louis? At the mention of Brian’s name and his own, he glanced my way, his face impassive. “Louis is right here with me, even as I speak.” Our eyes locked on each other’s. “No worse for the wear,” I smiled grimly. “And I can assure both of you that Lestat has no intention of doing us harm, either physically or emotionally.” At that, Louis also grimaced in a bitter semblance of a smile.  

“Please know that neither you nor Brian need concern yourselves for our sake. I’m certain, though, that both of you are better off not being here in Italy, only for the fact that you are mortal. Mortals do not belong at a vampire reunion unless they have no desire to live.” And with that statement, a solution presented itself to me for this entire insane situation. No, mortals have no place among vampires. How much pain can I prevent, simply by doing what a vampire does best? How simple, really. And yet, it never occurred to me until explaining to our mortal lovers why they cannot be here. “I will speak to you soon, Charles.” I gazed meaningfully at Louis. “And I will ask Louis to call Brian to assure him of his well-being.” At that point we rung off.

“Where is he, Louis? Where is Tristan?” I was still gazing at him intently. The rooftop memories came unbidden to his mind, which had opened to me when I first spoke his name to Charles. “Hmmm.” I made my face inscrutable then shut my thoughts completely.

“What are you going to do, David?” He tilted his head at me, his arms still folded over his chest.

I smiled lightly. “Nothing more or less than what I was created to do, my brother.” I crossed the room to kiss his cheek tenderly, my hand caressing his jaw. I murmured in his ear, “Take a shower, love. Then call poor Brian. Charles said he is ‘positively frantic’ about you.” I kissed him again and departed through the French doors with resolve.


	28. Reassurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis puts in a call to Brian to reassure him that nothing totally crazy is happening. It's a good thing Brian can't read his thoughts.

Brian Callahan

A Reassuring Call

When I returned to New Orleans, I had plenty to keep me busy, especially after such an extended absence. I was glad to be home too, basking in the sweet warmth of an early Louisiana spring, catching up with people and all the rest of it, but some days I had a hard time keeping on task. I missed Louis, but that wasn’t it. I wasn’t worried that he was in any physical danger, though I suppose anything’s possible. Really, it was his state of mind, the look of dull pain in his eyes when he’d been on the phone with Lestat. It was the simmering anger threatening once again to boil over, turning him into the fearsome and reckless creature he’d become before we left New Orleans months ago. He’d been gone a week when I called him myself. I got his voice mail which meant that either he’d turned the phone off or the battery had run down, which was the more likely of the two. He didn’t have much use for it, really - he kept it with him in case Lestat needed to get hold of him and even then I was the one who made sure it was kept charged.

Louis doesn’t usually call me unless he has a specific reason, I told myself. He knows I understand at least some of what is going on and expects that I will also understand that he is pre-occupied. That was sound enough reasoning but it did little to ease the anxiety growing in me as the nights passed without word from him. When it got to be too much I called Charles after spending part of the evening in the Kerry pub. The expected calming of nerves via the fabled _Uisce Beatha_ , also known as whiskey, had not materialized and I cut myself off before I found myself doing something rash. The steady, formal cadence of Charles’s voice calmed me more than the several shots had done and I found myself spilling my anxieties into his patient ear. We didn’t make it a habit to discuss our respective Immortals, both of us having our own protocol regarding that particular matter, but it’s reassuring to know there’s someone that you can talk to without all the complicated restraints that are normally in place. He was aware something was up because David, too, had been summoned to Italy and he admitted to that much. Although neither of us discussed specifics it was simple enough to draw conclusions that were, if not dire, then at least worrisome. I hadn’t expected that he would be alarmed enough for my sake to actually call David after the fact, but then, I was rather less inhibited and more emotional than I normally am.

‘Whiskey, yer the very divil’, as my father had been known to say.

Louis called early the next evening as I was walking up Royal on my way to pick up my dinner order at the Verti-Mart. “Hello Brian.” he said, “I understand you are frantic regarding my safety.” There was the slightest hint of amusement in his voice.

“Well…anxious is more what I would call it, but yes, I’ve been worried.” He listened patiently while I explained my conversation with Charles, brushing off my apologies for having disturbed both David and himself at all. “Never worry about it, Brian. I should have called you to put your mind at ease.” “Can I ask what’s happened?” I said cautiously.

He fetched a deep sigh. “I’m not at all comfortable about the events that continue to unfold, but you knew that when I left.” He was using a lot of restraint; I could tell by his sharpened consonants and his precise enunciation. “As expected, Lestat paid little attention to anything David or myself had to say and in any case things have gotten far too out of hand to be resolved in anything resembling a reasonable manner. He’s gallivanted off to London to try and work his will upon Daniel.”

It was a lot to process and I could not even begin to imagine how wounded he was. “Are you coming home?”

“I was planning on returning; there is very little point in my staying here. I have no idea when Lestat plans to return and I would as soon not bear witness to the culmination of what he’s thrown into motion.” He said heavily, “But David has requested that I accompany him to Pompeii. I don’t plan on an extended stay however, and I will fill you in on the sordid details of what has happened when I return, my Brian. We will not linger in New Orleans. I think I should like to spend some time at Grand Lake. Would that suit you?”

“Absolutely.” I told him. I felt my heart leap and just as quickly drop as I considered the implications of what he’d just said.

“Very good. I will call you when I am ready to leave and have you arrange a private flight back. I haven’t the patience to see to it and I am in no mood to be trapped among a planeload of mortals. Good night, cheri.”

“Good night.” I said. I put the phone in my pocket and stood there for a good minute or so, looking up at the light leaking from the sky and trying to sort through my tangled emotions. Despite his reassurances and calm manner, I didn’t believe that all was well with Louis. Here’s the thing – Louis’s default is calm whether he actually feels that way or not. After years of observation I can say that it’s not only his startling, unearthly appearance that unsettles mortals; it’s also his unnatural control of body language and his impassive expression— there are no cues to pick up on and that alone generates a good deal of unease. I have grown used to it; the absolute stillness or the fearsome stare don’t discomfit me anymore and I have learned to see small, revealing tells that alert me to his mood. His voice told me things, too. He speaks English with only the slightest of accents but when he has leashed his emotions, his accent becomes more pronounced as it had sounded on the phone.

I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t pleased to be included in his plan to spend some time at Grand Lake but what I read into that was that Lestat was not coming back with him. No matter what he said about it, when they are apart he is only halfthere and because I love him I never want to see him like that, even if it means he will turn to me for what comfort he can take from me. With a sigh I crossed Ursulines and went to pick up my order. My flagging appetite revived when I entered the little market and Sam, the owner, gave me his usual warm greeting as he kept one eye on the line growing behind me.

“Here’s your po’boy, Brian. Roast beef, dressed and extra Wow.” Verti-Mart’s Wow sauce is legendary stuff. “Thanks, Sam.” I paid him and sidled past the people lined up in the narrow aisle.

On the short walk back I decided I’d drive out to Grand Lake later that night. Renovations had been made to the house, both cosmetic and security-wise and I wanted to see for myself that everything was in order, especially if Louis planned on staying there for any length of time. I couldn’t help but wonder about Lestat’s newest _grande affaire._ I didn’t understand him. All Louis asked of him came down basically to communication, especially after what had happened with Lucas. He’d communicated all right, but he’d waited until it was too late to make much of a difference. It doesn’t matter what I think about any of it, but it should matter to him what _Louis_ thinks about it.


	29. Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On thinking where David may have gone, Louis departs from the villa to intervene.

Louis

Intervention

The smile faded from my lips when Brian rang off and I dropped the phone on the charging pad. Standing still for a long moment, I became aware that I was alone in the villa. No heartbeats within, either mortal or immortal and outside only the sleepy sound of birds roosting in the trees, the quick, fluttering heartbeats of the many cats that roamed this seaside city and the secret rustling of wind in the foliage outside the thick walls. It was a beautiful place. No surprise, of course: I had thought so when I had been here before. Lestat prefers to surround himself with beauty—it’s practically a law, like gravity or physics or possibly a missed Commandment: Beautiful things, beautiful creatures; armor against his self-doubt and his dissatisfaction with questions that held no answers for him.

Where in this place had Lestat ravished his lovely boy? Everywhere, no doubt. That wasn’t enough, though, was it? No, it’s never enough for Lestat, he must always have more, he must always push everything and everyone to their furthest limit and then puzzle at why things do not work out the way he thought they should. And now? Now David was on his way to Rome to do what Lestat had suggested one of us do only just the night before even though it was not what he actually wanted. I would stop David if I could for I understood that he saw it as a solution to the pain I felt and perhaps to end the pain the boy must be enduring.

It was not the boy’s…not Tristan’s fault, but at this point I had ceased to care much about fairness or for his suffering. Tristan. I spoke the name out loud; I supposed I would have to get used to it. It did not matter if I detested the whole damned situation; I would do what little was left for me to do in order to protect Lestat from his recklessness and to stop David doing what might be irreparable harm to his relationship with our maker. I caught a glimpse of myself in a gilded mirror as I moved toward the balcony; no time for a shower but I could take a moment to change clothes and run a comb through my hair. What blood there had been on my skin had long since been absorbed or had dried and flaked away.

I removed my clothing. The fine shirt I had purchased with Lestat in mind before I’d left New Orleans was ruined, as were the trousers. I left the clothes where I’d stepped out of them and, but for socks, walked naked back to my chamber. The little valise I’d brought sat on the heavy, carved dresser and I opened it to find a pale green shirt, and a pair of soft grey trousers. Brian’s scent rose from the case; he’d packed it for me. At the bottom was a billfold with a

credit card, several hundred Euros and identification for one Martin Louis Debreuil of Paris in case I should need such things for any reason. The name Brian had chosen raised another faint smile; Martine Debreuil was the name of a character in a film I am quite fond of, one I’d watched with him several times over the past winter. He’d used the masculine form of the name for my pseudonym du jour. I found his attention to such details most endearing.

Once dressed, I tucked the billfold in my pocket and buttoning my jacket, I glanced into yet another mirror. The smile was gone and the face staring back was completely without expression, as blank as a doll’s; it took me by surprise. A little concentration transformed my expression into something less mask-like and I went out to the balcony. Again, I hesitated. I could take the passive road and let David take care of the unpleasantness, but where had passivity gotten me? Revisiting the same thing time after predictable time. Had my refusal to step up and make a claim predicated Lestat’s behavior? Would such a gesture be just as meaningless as, say, a wedding? I didn’t know and I no longer cared to dwell on it. What was the point? Lestat wanted this boy and so he would have him; a parting gift from me if David had not already destroyed him. I glanced upward at the ragged scud of low clouds hanging over the sea, lit luridly from below by the lights of Ravello and began my ascent.


	30. A Roman Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis finds David in time to spare Tristan - but what does the act do to his already volatile emotions?

David and Louis

Roman Encounter

David:

I took to the sky, concentrating on Rome, specifically the neighborhood surrounding the Jewish ghetto. I opened my mind gift to the mortals there, searching their minds for a certain auburn-haired young man as the wind whipped viciously at my clothing. The biker leathers had been far more practical for such travel this time of year; but as others of my kind have noted, the cold doesn’t affect us like mortals. All the better. I had no intention of enfolding Tristan in a warm embrace. As I drew nearer to his flat, I sought both to open my “hearing” and yet focus it – not an easy task, and a skill only acquired with much practice.

I dropped to the very rooftop revealed in Louis’ thoughts, and listened for a beating heart in his flat. Nothing. I frowned and closed my eyes, combing through the thoughts and conversations of hundreds of mortals in the vicinity. I loathed this aspect of the mind gift. It was like listening to an old wireless, whose stations bled into one another, yielding snatches of this conversation and that one, among the thoughts that accompanied the words. When I used this to locate my victims, it had become relatively easy to tune into certain words and phrases and emotions. This was different in that I was not looking for some luscious evil-doer—merely a particular lad who had the misfortune to attract a vampire’s attention.

I was not having much luck, and I was growing impatient, then growing annoyed at my impatience. I sighed deeply and began a more systematic approach to the matter, focusing on one flat’s occupants at a time, when suddenly the shouted name, “TRISTAN!” came to me within mortal range of hearing, accompanied by someone trying diligently to beat down his door.

“TRISTAN LA ROCHE! OPEN UP! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE, YOU CARIÑO BASTARDO INGRATO!” A woman’s voice was yelling between her loud pounding on a wooden door. I focused my entire attention on her words and thoughts. She was speaking to a man, not quietly, but no longer yelling so loudly that mortals who happened to be on the roof would hear. “I tell you, I am worried!

Something is wrong. He is acting strangely, and it is not like him to refuse a meal three days running, not even for a lover. He has to eat! TRISTAN! (bang!, bang!, bang!) IF YOU DON’T OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW, I’M GOING TO BURN DOWN

THE BUILDING!”

“Sabina,” the man with her spoke, “I truly do not believe he is home. Surely he would have opened the door by now. Let’s try Freni’s. Perhaps the great Tristan has at last been spurned and is drowning his troubles until he finds his next new interest. After all, the greater the height, the harder the fall, no? And this last lover . . . need I remind you that he has cancelled almost every plan made since this mysterious one came into the picture?”

I could feel her exasperation and her concern, even as she allowed the man to lead her down the stairs. I walked around to the edge of the building and watched as they exited onto the narrow cobblestone street. I dropped silently to the street some distance behind them, and found no difficulty in following them to a small, crowded pub of sorts. I hung back in the shadows, once again opening my mind gift to see through the eyes of the man – Tullio, I discovered – who had pushed his way inside, closely followed by the woman.

Yes, there he was – my prey – already well on his way to inebriation. I immediately switched my perspective from Tullio to Tristan and was enveloped by anger as well as hurt and rejection, all rolling around and around in a pervasive confusion. I was astounded by the amount of vampiric blood I could sense coursing through his veins. I frowned deeply as I considered that Lestat had done everything to change the young man but drain him completely first. So this is what happens when one consumes copious amounts of our blood, which competes with mortal cells for dominance, the scholar in me observed. Just as our physical bodies identify with and cling to our souls, they must also cling tenaciously to mortal existence. And I wondered if his mortal white blood cells weren’t attempting to rid his boy of the wisely perceived toxin which was obviously attacking his body.

Regardless, his thirst was palpable. I knew it immediately as bloodlust; but Tristan was gulping at his drink, trying in vain to slake a thirst he could not understand. Little wonder he was quickly working his way into what would undoubtedly be a massive hangover, had he any chance of living to see the morning. I couldn’t understand Lestat’s reasoning for allowing the lad to endure this long. Unlike some of our kind, Lestat really isn’t cruel by nature. Impatient, impetuous, arrogant, truly the “Brat Prince” that Marius had so aptly named him – but cruel? No. Yet, it was obvious that this was pure hell for the boy. I found myself pondering how he would taste, what with so very much of

Lestat’s blood added to his delectable mortal blood with a significant amount of alcohol thrown in for good measure. Just the thought was prickling my own thirst. It was quite fortunate I hadn’t had to suffice with the little drinks earlier, as I would be suffering at this point, though not as much as Tristan was suffering.

Ah, well, I would put an end to that soon enough.

“Fuck off, Sabina! Leave me alone!” he yelled, then wondered why he was so angry at these, his friends, whom he truly loved. He turned from them, raking one hand through an unruly mass of auburn curls as he sought for his glass with the other. Tullio was urging the woman to leave, trying to cajole her with empty words. She was crying – angry, yes, but more than that, fearful for these unexplained changes in her beloved Tristan. Tristan shook his head, entirely conflicted – wanting to run after her, to take her in his arms and beg her forgiveness; at the same time, he knew he could not because he was more than willing to sacrifice her – and every other friend he had – for Lestat. He knew it was unreasonable, but he could not seem to divert from this path. My heart broke for him. Killing him would be an honest act of mercy.

As soon as the couple pushed out the door and past me, the woman still crying and the man still speaking comfort, I slipped inside. He was slouched on a barstool with his back to me, the hand still in his hair, elbow propping his head up as he tipped back to chug his wine. In addition to not eating, he seemed not to have shaved nor showered in the last three days. The baggy beige cargo pants hung on his frame, though his soiled t-shirt did not camouflage the fine musculature of his shoulders and biceps. I strode up beside him, mentally willing the surrounding crowd to forget that either of us were there.  

As I was fairly invading his personal space, facing him, he turned toward me, fully prepared for a fight. Before he could react, I caught his jaw in my hand, looking into his suddenly wide eyes. I smiled, inches from his face, showing him my neat little fangs. “You are very much what I imagine the Cherub would have been like, had he another decade to develop, you know.” He gasped and struggled while I surveyed him and murmured, “Hmmm. But the Cherub has those irresistible brown eyes.”

Where is Lestat? his mind screamed at me. His hands had come up to claw at my fingers. He shifted his gaze around before meeting mine again. Is he with you? Let me see him!

I sighed. “Yes, your addiction, poor bastard,” I commented aloud, then spoke to his mind. I’m so sorry, love. You are a beautiful man. I can see why he is so taken with you. However, you are not the only one he loves, I’m afraid. Nor are you the only one who loves him. But you are suffering so much in this state. I let him feel my compassion for him, even as I revealed my intention to end his misery.

“Brother,” said a quiet voice behind me as I felt his hand on my shoulder. “Do not do this, mon frère.” I looked around to meet Louis’ intent gaze. He flicked his eyes to Tristan, still being held firmly in my grip, before turning his full commanding attention to me. “Lestat does not want the boy to die, regardless of his cavalier words. Besides, the problem does not lie with this one, as you well know. Nothing will be solved by his death.” When I said nothing and did not move, he murmured, “Please, David. For me. Do not do this.”

I looked back at the poor mortal lad in my grasp, whose round eyes were bouncing between me and Louis, then released him. Tristan nearly fell from the stool he’d been sitting on, grabbing at the bar in time to catch himself. He looked at Louis, recognition in his eyes. A hard spill of adrenaline into his system triggered the anger that had been seething within him. His breath came in short, hitching gasps.

“Where is Lestat?” he demanded of Louis. “Is he with you?”

Louis spared him one brief glance, icy in its very lack of emotion. The next moment for all Tristan knew we had vanished into thin air, so quickly did we depart.


	31. Ananke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After meeting and sharing an intense union with a stranger, Tristan is confronted by Louis and David.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ἀνάγκη /Ananke*: (Ancient Greek: Ἀνάγκη, from the common noun ἀνάγκη, "force, constraint, necessity"), was the personification of destiny, necessity and fate, depicted as holding a spindle. She marks the beginning of the cosmos, along with Chronos. She was seen as the most powerful dictator of all fate and circumstance which meant that mortals, as well as the Gods, respected her and paid homage. Considered as the mother of the Fates according to one version, she is the only one to have control over their decisions

Tristan

Ananke

There was a shift – a sudden deflection in the air catching me unaware when reality in all its trivial unavoidability seemed the only granted concession. It had visited me as I furiously emptied one glass after another in the company of beautiful, hollow strangers. It had then descended upon me as one evening I sat under the low vault of the Mythraeum of San Clemente long enough for the dust to compassionately settle on my clothes and hair. As I contemplated the myth frozen upon the altar depicting the ritual sacrifice of the bull at the hands of the forgotten god Mythra, the light had seemed to fade, as if the sun had penetrated through the very ceiling of the sacred cave to stage its own sumptuous death, and I’d felt myself drowning again. Images of Lestat’s skin gliding under my hands and the fury of his gaze mingled with the memory of the offering of his blood gushing like incandescent light from his very soul to mine. It was not the lamentation of my mind only. It was my entire being burning in agony for him.

He never called. I never called. Days went by marked by dissoluteness, excess and absolute unconcern as a rule. I woke up besides complete strangers and, much to Tullio’s approval, I rarely sought their graces more than once. Although my lust seemed for once to favor more conventional gratifications, it demanded a complete and, to be quite honest, uncompromising surrender from those who complied to enter my bed. Yet no matter how tenderly the submission of their thighs embraced me, no matter how eagerly the warmth of their bodies offered generous and valorous consolation, I could find no enduring peace and, gradually, my appetites pursued even more demanding – indeed almost sinister – peaks. More than once I’d either tied a scarf too harshly around an over-trusting throat or deepened my kiss onto the vulnerability of a wrist a little too passionately and I had witnessed excitement discolor into the prodromes of fear – something that dismayed my conscience terribly on the account of the thrill that it undeniably stirred behind the veil of my weak apologies. None of these transgressions however prompted me to gauge the full magnitude of the catastrophe ahead.

Until I met Marco.

One late night I was walking across Campo de’ Fiori on my way home and, as my custom demanded, I delayed my promenade to pay a silent homage to the justly eerie monument Rome dedicated to perhaps its most heroic and illustrious victim: Giordano Bruno.

“I’ve heard he was burned on this very spot.”

I turned to meet my random interlocutor without really acknowledging his rather squalid introduction.

“And one would presume –this- is all you heard about Giordano Bruno.” I returned his smile.

“Well, he was what they call a heretic, right?”

“If with ‘heretic’ you mean he passionately dissented from the dogma, the hypocrisy and the despotism of the Roman Catholic Church then you’re quite right,” I pointed out. “However, Bruno was so much more than a radical pain in the Vatican ass, you see. He was a fine astronomer and astrologer, a mathematician, an alchemist, a philosopher.”

He looked at me with a rather skeptical cringe and then laughed out loudly. “No wonder they had to build a stake right under his feet, right?”

“I suppose so, yes.” I took my time to study his features concluding he could have been a good ten years older than me and the casual way he moved and dug his hands deep into the side pockets of his trousers suggested he usually did not approach younger men as a regular pastime.

“I’m Marco, by the way.” he said.

“Alessandro.” I replied without any real plan other than frivolity behind my lie.

“Nice to meet you, ” he took a step closer. “Fancy a glass of wine? My treat, I promise.”

I welcomed the offer as he proposed that we went to his place and, although I could already presage where this was heading to, nothing suggested things between us were destined to soar to a point of no return.

“Take a seat,” He showed me to his leather couch. “Make yourself comfortable while I fetch us some decent wine.”

As I waited for him to re-emerge from the kitchen, I scanned the place with a degree of genuine curiosity. The front room was furnished with anonymous taste but the walls displayed a discrete collection of contemporary pieces. However what undeniably caught my attention was rather the photographic parade dutifully ordered along the window sill, partly concealed by the thick half-white curtains, framing far more intimate clues about my host: Marco at the stadium sporting his football team colors surrounded by friends, Marco standing with water up to his knees brandishing a large trout for the camera, Marco kissing a blonde dull woman. How nice. It seemed I was growing quite a habit for taken men.

“I just realized I’ve already told you just about everything about myself,” he returned to the couch and sat close next to me. “While I technically know nothing about you, other than your devotion to some Dominican friar burnt at the stake more than four hundreds years ago, of course.”

I held his gaze and deliberately let my fingers indulge for a fugacious but explicit moment against his as he handed over my glass of wine. “That’s very likely all you need to know about me right now.” I smiled and took a long, ambiguous sip without shifting my gaze away from him.

His dark eyes narrowed. “Oh but I want to know everything, you see.” his fingers ventured through the unruly mass of my hair and then glided, almost reverently, along the skin of my neck.

“So it would seem,” I gave him an amused side-glance as I let his hand and now evident urgency wander under the collar of my sweater. “I’m sure we could impart quite a few edifying lectures upon one another.”

“I never did this before, you know.” He admitted and then took a

pensive sip from his glass.

“Am I to believe this is the first time you taste some remarkable wine?” I smirked teasingly.

He slowly ran his hand down my arm. “Can’t you make things a bit easier for me?”

I fastened my hand around his wrist and mercilessly guided his wandering curiosity to the undisputable prominence of my involvement.

"Better now?"

With a rough impatient movement he then claimed my mouth as we stumbled off the couch and made our way to his bedroom. Marco soon turned out to be an understandably un-experienced but otherwise quick and admittedly zealous learner. He took a meaningful moment to look up at me as his lips parted around the tip of my already swelling need and then worked his way until his ministrations moved in perfect rhythm with the rise and fall of my hips. Brought to the very verge of rapture I had to pull at his short hair and beg for mercy.

“Not so quickly,” I groaned replacing the warmth of his mouth with the firm grip of my own hand. “It would be quite a shame to conclude the matter so precipitately.”

He seized my wrist with a low growling sound. “I want you.”

I parted my thighs under his close scrutiny and challenged his breathless urge.

“Then phrase it properly.”

His cock wept a clear pearl of sheer agony. “Phrase what…”

I milked a few drops from the bottle that had been up to that crucial point expectantly waiting on Marco’s bedside table and set to pursue my cause by drawing a couple of slow inviting aureoles around the spot of his ambitions while my left hand teasingly courted the evidence of my own eagerness.

 _‘I want to fuck you’_ I fomented his mind without truly understanding what I was doing. _I want to hear you saying it._

“Shit, I could cum just by watching you.” He growled and then bent down on me. I felt his fevered breath expanding in short gasps against the flesh of my throat.

“Now listen very carefully,” he hissed in my ear as I surrendered to the delicious ruthlessness of his need pressing against me. “I want to fuck you until I hear you begging me to stop.”

Regrettably enough however I was never forced to break into a fit of delirious supplications, for my friend had spent his desperate thrusts with such rampant enthusiasm that our noble skirmish ended all too soon.

“I’m sorry…” he laughed trying to catch his breath. “I really tried to slow down but, Christ, I just couldn’t control myself, I guess. It felt too fucking good.”

I watched him as he let himself fall across the bed exhaling a heavy satiated sigh.

“I’m genuinely glad you enjoyed yourself,” I arched my brow. “Would you mind terribly if I took advantage of the situation to pursue my own gratification now? As you can see, my lamentable condition is far from being solved.”

“Indeed it is,” he rewarded me with a rather obscene smirk. “What can I do for you?”

I rose from the ruined sheets and walked to the nearby closet to let my fingertips travel through the fine collection of silken ties hanging from the door.

“You don’t need to do a thing,” I hinted. “Let me take care of everything.”

Marco did not object nor did he display any visible sign of remonstration. Not even when I had his wrists tightly secured to the bed-frame.

“Well, that’s quite an unpredicted turn of events, I’d say.” he lifted his head to look at me as knelt between his legs.

I could feel the surge of the darker thirst already polluting my senses.

“You have not seen anything yet.”

He laughed perhaps trying to hide the already palpable uneasiness I was purposely putting him through.

“I am you now,” I murmured in a low voice as I poured more slick liquid into the palm of my hand. “And you are me.”

“What do you mean-” He tried to speak, ah indeed he did try, but words died away as soon as my fist seized and revived his desire for me. I watched his abdomen tense and his head fall back on the pillows. “Ah, but you’re good at this.”

“Then perhaps you might also enjoy this.” I gave him a slow smile as my finger lazily probed his tight entrance.

“Wait, what are you doing…”

I ignored the mild alarm in his tone and pushed my exploration further and further, loving the way he gasped at the overwhelming pleasure both my fist and fingers imparted. He cherished every precious minute of it until I probed his readiness with my own need. Feeling him tense up, struggling to evade the inevitable overthrow, I unsparingly grabbed his ankles and forced his legs wide apart.

“Don’t you wish your wife was here to appreciate this moment too?” I pushed both his knees close to his chest to better expose the irresistible vulnerability of him. “I bet she would be surprised to learn how far you’ve ventured on your very first conjugal infringement.”

“How do you know…” He growled wondering with utter indignation how had I come to know about his respectable married life. But I had no desire for civilized explanations, besides how could I’ve confessed I’d been pillaging his mind for all sort of personal information? Instead I surrendered to the famished demons inside me as they exhorted me to ravage my no longer eager lover.

“No, not like this, stop it!” he cried.

The vibrating anger in his eyes fueled the ravishing impulsion throbbing through my veins even more dangerously. My fingers closed around his throat as I infringed all scruples and abused his body for my own and only pleasure. Marco cried out loud. He cursed and he fought me to no avail. I tightened the grip under his jaw until his beautiful dark eyes filled first with incredulous confusion and, finally, with lucid terror.

“Please… Stop…” his chest heaved, tears staining his altered features.

As bliss swelled at each inflicted thrust, I saw my hand dart to the bedside table, take hold of some kind of shining object, then descend above his left clavicle and, before I could fully understand what was going on, Marco gasped and blood erupted all over the bed sheets, all over my face. I heard my own low elated laughter as I locked my mouth around the lacerated flesh to drain the ambrosial flow I was rewarded with in long, avid gulps. Then, for a fleeting but devastating moment, I savored it again: that absolute and immaculate peace I’d been granted in Lestat’s arms only.

****************

Two nights later I was sitting at Freni’s craving nothing else other than solitude and endless intoxication. Tullio and Sabina had just left after a brief but painful exchange that immediately filled my chest with bitterness and regret. I didn’t need an expert to assert that I had completely lost all trace of control on my life. When I tried to laugh about myself and just about everyone else, the memory of Marco crept behind my neck like a hungry ghost. I could see myself sitting on his bedroom floor, naked, shaking, my eyes fixed on the bloodied pair of scissors still resting in my right hand.

When at last I’d managed to gather the strength to rise and stand on my feet again, I had moved back to the bed and forced myself to look down at the sickening consequences of my depredation. He lay there lifeless, eyes closed and dry parted lips. I’d guided my shaking hand over his skin and, upon finding it still warm, I’d nearly wept. The wound my furor had imparted, although deep, would have healed.

Still, no matter how deeply relieved I was at the thought of not having murdered a man, I knew I could no longer deny the fact that there were far too many evidences of unequivocable and often terrifying changes in my behaviors to be dismissed as minor coincidences. After Ravello, I had lost all interest in food, work meant and counted less than nothing and, after Marco, I avoided any close interaction with people - above all my friends, for fear of harming them.

What survived was my obsession for Lestat. Which I tried, but ultimately failed to fight back with massive allowances of wine and anger. As I placed my empty glass on the bar, I sensed danger even before I could understand where it came from. I turned to challenge the tall, striking man who had materialized out of nowhere on my right. With a sudden –too sudden- move he had seized my jaw in a firm, inescapable, cold grip and the moment he flashed his threatening and quite revealing smile there was simply no more doubt about his nature and intention.

“You are very much what I imagine the Cherub would have been like, had he another decade to develop, you know.” He spoke in a low murmur.

“Let go of me,” I hissed peering into his dark eyes. _Is Lestat with you?_

 _You are not the only one he loves._ His mind spoke to me as his gaze flared with fleeting compassion. _Nor are you the only one who loves him._

I narrowed my eyes “Who are you?”

 _You are suffering so much in this state._ His grip tightened and I understood that, whoever this immortal was, he’d been looking for me for a very specific and extreme reason: put an end to the misery Lestat had sentenced me to.

“Brother,” a soft voice spoke and as I looked over the immortal’s shoulder I met a pair of emerald eyes staring coldly at me. “Lestat does not want the boy to die.”

The immortal still held me but I sensed reluctance in his hand.

“Please, David. For me. Do not do this.” The other whispered softly.

I shifted my gaze to the immortal above me as my lips formed his name in stupefied recognition. David Talbot had traveled all the way to Rome to clean up after Lestat’s mess. Perhaps I should have been honored. Grateful even. Instead, despite the genuine admiration I had always nourished for Lestat’s sophisticated and wise fledgling, I hated him and made no secret of it. He silently stared down at me and finally retrieved his hand with an abrupt pull nearly dragging me off my stool. I grabbed at the bar just in time to steady my balance and when I slowly looked back up at the other immortal there was no trace of doubt left in me.

“Where is Lestat?” I demanded. “Is he with you?”

His green eyes flashed with algid disregard and then slowly he just looked away. The very next moment they both had vanished as silently as they had come, leaving me staring, with a sense of emptiness trapped in my throat, at my own blurred reflection on the large mirror across the room.

 


	32. To London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat heads to London to do an interview of his own.

# Lestat

# To London, To London

I left before Louis or David could say anything further: After the last conversation on the terrace, there was little else to discuss. We all knew I would not change my mind so why not simply get on with the details? When David took off that night to assuage his hunger and irritation, I retreated to the depth of my room to meditate upon Daniel’s location. He came to me in visions: First in his home territory of New York, then entertaining two petite beauties in Shanghai, and finally, somehow more solidly, in London. It was there I touched down, and there where I sat with mixed emotions on a bench facing the Thames.

As I watched the foot traffic, I thought of the last time I’d been here so close to Charring Cross. My body had been burnt and ached in some unnamable song, and my thirst had been unrivaled. Keenly I saw a group of older ladies across the water, they were gathered like pigeons that waddled and stooped toward one another in a secret language and I felt that among them I might see the ghost of the beggar woman with rags on her feet that I’d danced with so long ago. To be safe, I looked in the opposite direction and thought about what to say to Daniel.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I could picture him in a posh, contemporary suite at the Park Plaza. Could he feel me feeling him? Who was that there with him in the alarmingly tailored suit? I watched them as papers were signed and handshakes were exchanged. It came to me that when I’d last spoken to Daniel regarding Lucas, he was aligning himself with large architectural firms as some form of consultant or broker. I nodded as I continued to see them in my mind.

“Daniel Molloy.”

I spoke his name aloud into the deep London night and watched as those words seemed to travel across the city and tap him firmly on the shoulder. He looked around with wide eyes, but laughed it off so as to not alarm his client. Soon, the man was shown out of the suite and Daniel moved to the windows as if he could see the one who’d called to him.

“Stay there, Daniel. I’m coming. If you choose to leave, I’ll find you.”

My words were softer, but their message clear.

“Lestat?” He spoke aloud.

I declined to answer him, because it wasn’t a question – it was a statement. He knew damn well it was me, and as I set off toward the city center, I realized with a short laugh that I didn’t have to sit down and plan a speech. No, the final outcome was readily visualized. The ingredients and recipe were complete in my head. The only thing I needed to do was tweak and elevate the desire of he who would infuse the creation with new life.

As I passed between the purple-lit columns at the entrance of the hotel and focused my attention on finding his room, I chastised myself for such an analogy. Tristan was far more than a project. I loved the boy to be certain – for if I did not then I would simply kill him. I wouldn’t bother any of my fellow immortals, and he would simply meet his end in my arms following one last memorable interlude. As I waited for the elevator, ahem, the ‘lift’, I watched the many mortals at the bar and wondered if it might not be best to just go that route and be done with it quick and painlessly. I could go to ground for a time after he was gone in order to prevent such a thing from happening again anytime soon and poor Louis would be rid of my atrocities.

But I owed Tristan a choice.

When the time came… and I realized painfully that it would have to be soon, but yes, Daniel could give him that choice. If Tristan declined to be turned I figured they could work out the alternatives.

As I stepped off the elevator into a deserted hall, I threw away such thoughts before they could lead to an untimely bout of self-reproach. I knocked on the door of suite 454, and couldn’t help but smile as the door opened and those violet eyes looked at me with guarded skepticism.


	33. Initial Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat has a lengthy conversation with Daniel and points out a few things Daniel is reluctant to admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Lucas" - Those unfamiliar with this name can find the backstory at Livejournal Community "IndulgentRed" and "IndulgentRed2" - If you asked Lestat now, he'd tell you that Lucas was a plaything, a substitute for Tristan while Tristan was otherwise occupied. He knows that's a cruel admission but says he is the way he is and you love him anyway.

Lestat

Initial Conversations

“Hello Daniel”, I said in a most casual voice as I entered his hotel room which not surprisingly echoed the design of the penthouse where I’d visited him in New York. It seemed Daniel was a man of somewhat predictable tastes, but whether it was New York or now London, I was relieved to see him in a place where Armand would not be present or at the very least in the next room doing the equivalent of holding his ear against the wall. No, I wouldn’t have welcomed his interference, for with what I had planned, there would be interference I had no doubt.

“Let’s get this over with, Lestat.”

He stepped back as I moved past him into a large room with floor to ceiling windows. I smiled at that for it seemed something all vampires enjoyed – at least those I knew, and I had long ago surmised that it represented both freedom and a fear of losing it – but my amateur psychiatry had no place tonight.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me. I do love these quarters, Daniel. The entire hotel is appealing in fact.”

“You came from Italy to comment on my accommodations?” He closed the door and took a seat on a long black leather sofa with a pointed stare in my direction. “Why are you here? I realize you were deliberately vague on the phone so I would agree to see you – which, mind you I didn’t have to do – not everyone must bow to your wishes.”

I studied the little track lights in the kitchen, each one producing a captivating rainbow universe over the gleaming marble bar. I fought against going to stand at the windows with their magnificent view of the famed London Eye as it slowly turned to offer fabulous views to the tourists. It was the sort of thing that could entrance me and make me forget my purpose but I drew my gaze upward, cleared my head and looked over at him. Once upon a time – as all good stories begin and as some will recall, dear Daniel Molloy was a young mortal man lost to addiction and pain.

Armand found him and with every shred of sin and longing in his dark little heart, claimed and devastated Daniel until he had no choice but to accept the blood and become one of us. If you have no idea what I’m saying here, damn it, Google the whole affair and get with the program. Now here he was and aside from any ongoing melodrama with his maker, he’d inadvertently become involved in well yes, melodrama with Yours Truly.

“I realize the last time we spoke it was under less than pleasant circumstances. I want you to know I’m sorry about Lucas, I really am. I wish you’d have come into the picture sooner, Daniel. I think you were a really good influence and I know he enjoyed your company and protection.”

“Spare me the condolence. If there was anyone he needed protection from aside from Armand, it was you. I didn’t influence him Lestat, other than to pretty much stay out of his way and let him find himself like you should have done from the start.”

“I suppose you’re right, but who knows eh? Maybe he would have died without our intervention? Maybe he would have succumbed to the temptations that poverty and neglect of the soul can bring. You know… it happens.”

“Clever angle there, but it doesn’t sway my opinion.”

“Why do I detect so much resentment in your voice, my friend? Have the nights with Armand been so stressful? You should take a vacation. I’d tell you to come back to Italy with me but the proximity and all, I understand… He’s far enough away that I rarely give him a second thought and he’s wise enough to leave me alone…”

“Is there a point to this?” He crossed and uncrossed his legs which matched his impatient tone.

“Daniel, say what you will about Lucas but I know the truth in your heart.”

“Do you now? Pray tell, what does my heart say, Saint Lestat?”

For a moment, I closed my eyes and could see he and Armand locked in a passionate embrace; Conversely, I could see them screaming at one another and in such moments, I could see and feel Daniel’s outright hatred for the one who had given him Eternal Life mixed with a tortured and unfathomable love. It was at once a piteous and beautiful picture, and I shook my head as I stood and gave into that urge to stand with my hands on the cool glass and drink in the vision of London town.

“I know you wish you could have done more for Lucas. I know that you saw your younger self in both his weaknesses and potential. You can deny it all you want, but I think you were very close in some moments to taking the boy under your immortal wing for good.”

“What do you mean? I never…”

“Oh? Didn’t you?” I turned toward him. “What about the nights Armand had Lucas captive? Did you not pass by the cell where he kept the boy and look upon him as a mirror?” He glared at me but said nothing. “Did you not enter the cell and caress him, Daniel, even at times intimately? Do you think I was unaware of such moments?”

“You never confronted…”

“Why would I have cared? Lucas was very physically appealing to men and women. Why would I care if you took enjoyment with him, or he with you?”

“Because you’re Lestat?”

“Ha!” I laughed out loud at the simplicity. “Indeed I am, you’re quite right. When it comes to what intimacy Lucas may have had or with whom, really I didn’t mind. I didn’t much care for Armand’s tactics – in fact you know I might like to eliminate him altogether on any given night, but I suppose every hero must have his nemesis.”

“Oh, you are so full of shit! Do you even hear yourself? You were no hero to Lucas. You let him suffer and it was me who sprang him from whatever Armand had planned – you want to insinuate that I would have turned the boy? Let me tell you that I fairly saved him from such a fate because there was every indication that’s what Armand had planned for him.”

“Now, now, don’t get all excited.” I gave him the sort of smile a nanny might display to a child who has asked one too many times for dessert before his meal. I stepped out onto the balcony and looked down. I thought of all the mortals below this floor and felt that ever-present and most amusing curiosity as to what they were doing in each of their little apartment units. I always thought of them as vignettes of humanity. “Daniel,” I said with reentrance to the living area, “Don’t you understand that you saved him because he was you?”

He had been faced away but turned toward me slowly, and I watched his face change as the realization of my words took hold. Had he seriously never thought of it before?

“But he wasn’t… I didn’t…”

“You did.” My hand caressed the back of the sofa and I spoke softly. “There was every bit of you in him, Daniel, and you couldn’t let Armand bring his pain and torture on Lucas when he was too far gone to fight it himself. You got him to safety and helped him start the mortal life you could have had long, long ago. He was so smart, so eager, wasn’t he? I tried to get him into college in Italy but all the while that was wrong for him. You, Daniel… you saved him and you knew what he needed – you’re right to say that the best thing was to let him find himself and you… did that, for him, and for you.”

He sank into the smaller loveseat without a word.

“Lucas would have gone on to become a great artist or gallery owner or who knows what because I stepped out of the picture. He knew he had my money or aide if it was needed, but he didn’t need it –that’s the point – because he felt so much more independent thanks to what you offered him in New York City of all places, where he could have easily become the mess he was before I met him.

Maybe after all, the time Lucas spent with me and Armand was merely a piece in the puzzle that led to you Daniel. Maybe it was time for you to have someone of your own to mold and love as you never were. I watched it all in my mind from afar, and I can tell you that he did love you as a friend and benefactor. I know he trusted you and felt at least the start of a contentment he never would have known with me. I don’t know. I can only thank you for that, though your expression makes me believe you’ve already felt such sentiments on more than a few lonely nights.”

His face was a mask of regret and mild shock, which I suspected was from the suppressed truth of his actions now come to the surface. Surely, I said again to myself, he must have known it all along. Ah, but we vampires are deception, particularly with ourselves. I held my silence as he played it over in his mind, and after a few minutes he seemed more himself.

“I don’t understand.” His voice was feeble. “You came here to what… enlighten me about this?”

When I felt the twinge of a sarcastic smile start to form on my lips I remembered as always that it was what Louis called my Tom Cruise face and instead simply let out a small sigh as I once more sat across from him on the edge of the couch. “These things I’ve said, I figured them to be most obvious, but I understand. I’ve come to offer you an opportunity.”

“In other words you want something from me. I may not live with you, but I know who you are.”

I couldn’t say much to that, because he wasn’t incorrect in the accusation. “Daniel, the way I see it, if you had spent more time with Lucas, he would have been yours. Now wait,” I raised my hand before he could object. “He would have wound up as your lover or your fledgling, or both – and I would have been fine with either outcome. If you’re honest, if you think about what I’ve said to you tonight you know that had you been able, had mortal time allowed, you’d have done more for him. I want to give you the chance to do that with someone else now.”

He stared at me for a moment and then recoiled as if I’d struck him. “You mean to tell me,” He laughed and stood up. “You’re telling me that you… Oh my God, you’ve done it again haven’t you? What is it with you? You screwed up another mortal life and you want me to be the one to step in and fix your mess is that what you’re saying?” He laughed again, bitterly. “Well you can fuck yourself all the way back to Italy, ‘cause I’m not having anything to do with it, or with you.”

With that the clever lad was out that balcony door and up into the night sky to be away from me, but how could he think I would leave him alone?

Hours later as I sat on a bench near the river, I gave into concentration and located him, freshly fed. I soon followed him from an alleyway to a fairly crowded pub where he’d taken a seat in a scantly-lit back corner.

“Jesus Christ, leave me alone. I said I want no part of whatever mess you’ve created. Have Louis or David clean it up.”

“I’m not Christ, and I won’t leave you alone.” I slid in at the opposite side of the gaudy, curved booth. “Louis and David aren’t good candidates, and believe me I’ve already thought to ask them, but do let me explain a bit further. Will you allow that without interruption?”

“Do I have a choice?”

As we watched the seedy night crowd do their thing, I gave an outline of who Tristan was, how I’d come to know him, and his present predicament.

“So this kid – He’s a whole do-over for you of Lucas. How can you say he’s not?”

“He’s not.”

“You’re a Master of Denial, Lestat.”

“Perhaps. But at this time, the choice as I see it is to turn him, or kill him.”

“Holy shit. You just told me that he’s someone you’ve cared for over many years and you can say that with a straight face.”

He shook his head in disbelief much as David had done. I wondered for a moment why they seem so surprised. Weren’t we all killers? Hadn’t I famously said something once about God and Vampires being indiscriminate?

“Well now you’ve said your piece and I listened. Kill him for all I care – I don’t know him and I certainly don’t owe you any favors. Go find someone else to do your dirty work. Call social services and see if they can point you to an agency because Daniel Molloy’s Respite Care has closed.” He got up, threw several bills onto the table and pushed through the crowd toward the door. I rolled my eyes and headed after him.

He spun on his heels as I approached from behind. “Seriously? What more do you want? Just go. You don’t like other vampires in the Quarter when you’re in residence, and I don’t like them in London when I’m here.”

“Daniel, there are a dozen vampires in this city in any given night and you know it. Don’t hate me for the things I say now. Those lonely nights I saw in my mind, the ones where you sit and think about your own mortal years, they’re pretty frequent when you’re not getting your pain delivered fresh from Armand, right?”

“Piss off. Hey, there’s a thought – why don’t you have Armand turn the kid? I’m sure he’d be thrilled. Maybe then he can get a do-over on me.”

“That would be a tragedy. I’d rather kill Tristan with my own hands.” I said as I followed him. He was once again headed down an alleyway that even by my standards looked like a dangerous place in the wee hours of the morning. “Daniel, call me what you will – say I’m a liar and a monster for the things I do, I don’t care. But if you’re going to tell me that you’re not miserable most of the time because you have no one, then denial is something we share. You have a chance to have a real companion.”

He turned and gave a second of warning before he rushed me and slammed me into the bricks. “What makes you think I want a companion?”

“Your anger: I know it all too well.” He held me fast and though I could have broken free with little effort, I rather enjoyed the intensity. “Think of it… you could have someone of your own and oh, Daniel…” I laughed with more true mirth than was proper to show. “Just think of doing such a deed right under Armand’s nose.” The force of his hands on my chest loosened only slightly and he held his gaze level to mine. “Think of it.”

He dropped his hands and I righted myself with a fleck of indignation. “You would win on both counts, Daniel. You would have your own companion, and Armand would be mad as …” I couldn’t think of a witty comparison.

“I’m not in the game of making him angry. When we’re not involved, I try just to forget him.”

“And how’s that working eh?” I straightened my shirt and walked over to where he’d pulled up onto a broken down bench behind a dumpster of a Chinese restaurant. I hopped up beside him and for a few minutes we watched the furtive shadows of the feral cats as they came to grab unspoiled delicacies.

“I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you just do it yourself? If you love this mortal, this Tristan so much, why don’t you just gather him in an embrace and get it over with? If he’s already had as much of your blood as you indicate, what difference would it make now if anyone else pulled him through?”

I said nothing at first, for there were truths to be offered and truths to be withheld, and once in a while I stopped to gauge the difference. “There are changes already in him. Already when I slip inside his mind, it is muddy and I run into blank walls. I don’t know that he’s learned how to intentionally block his thoughts, I don’t think so, but the blood is creating that issue. It is one thing I don’t want to lose between us. “

“That seems like a small consequence.”

“Is it?” I shook my head. “What I know is that Louis and I for example, and you and Armand surely, can momentarily feel something like that mind share when you take blood from one another, but aside from those flickers, it’s gone. When I’m with Louis, when he’s taking me to new heights of passion, I long for the nights of old when I could be inside him, mind and body.”

He threw me a sidelong glance. “I don’t care to hear about your passions with Louis. They’re well documented. But really, my opinion doesn’t change. Losing the mind share is a small thing. There are more reasons than that, so why don’t you tell me since you obviously don’t intend to leave me alone.”

“Morning is coming soon. I’m well prepared to leave you alone. Unless you’d like to sleep the day with me?” I teased.

“In your dreams.”

“Nightmares, perhaps.” I looked over at him. Maybe I’d said enough for now. I thought to myself and then with a nod, jumped down from the bench to a clatter as the boards fell apart on the backside and left him lopsided. I would find him again tomorrow and if he tried to prevent it, I’d find him anyway.

“We’ve never been close, Daniel, I know and what I’m suggesting is atrocious. One other thing I know is that you’re not stupid. There are those immortals who may believe you’re still a lost, simple-minded boy, but I know otherwise. Think about what I’ve said – think about the truths you owe yourself for once, and the way it could have all been so easily delivered had someone with a shred of compassion been your creator.” I turned and walked down the alley with the singular thought of what I would say tomorrow to seal the deal.


	34. Motherhouse Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat has time to kill in London. Literally?

Lestat

Motherhouse Intermission

I didn’t take the adjoining suite to his, but I did secure a room down the street with the help from Doctor Dufresne, whose voice was suspiciously similar to my own. He made arrangements for his patient, Mr. Lionel Potter to have his room darkened beyond normal accommodation due to a dreadful sensitivity to light. It was an alias I hadn’t used in a while and seemed somehow British enough, though perhaps I was thinking that because I called the hotel in front of a used book shop with a three-volume J.K. Rowling set in their window. While I could have made the arrangements without such games, I found something of a routine in such perversion.

There were still hours before I would have the need to check into the room, so I did what any tourist would do: I strolled about, shopped, and had a few drinks. By the time I reached the hotel my thirst was slaked and I had ‘right proper togs’ for the next evening.

My room was designed with more old school luxury than what I’d seen of The Plaza, but it hardly mattered. I had no one to entertain but myself, and I was not much in the mood for my own company even. If I took a minute to think things over, an inky-black emotions began to rise from the pit of my stomach. As the night rolled toward dawn, I consume a rotten mix of anger, disappointment and self-loathing. Then as the first hint of pink breached the sky, I drew closed the double draperies and washed it all down with a deep gulp of defiance.

Why should I punish myself? Why should I be angry at how things turned out? It served no purpose and things weren’t going to change now no matter whether I berated myself or danced all along the rooftops of London.

There was no turning back now. There was only sleep against the coming of the day and the final persuasion to present to Daniel.

**********

The next night I arose early as was my usual custom. I could tolerate faint light in the evening sky and regardless of where in the world I woke, would often stand near the windows with my sensitive eyes shielded by unreasonably expensive sunglasses.

I wanted to see the sunset in a limited sense. I cherished that hour when the last rays slipped away and the cities came to life for denizens of the dark.

I slipped into my new clothing and examined the presentation in a marvelous cheval mirror. I shook my head critically for while I looked quite dashing, the British style always made me feel stiff – and not in the way I preferred. Ah well, I shrugged as I headed out into the night. It was a pity that David could not fit my size or I would pass along the garments.

David… I thought of him back at the villa with Louis. I wondered what they were doing to pass the time. Maybe they’d decided to leave Italy in my absence, and if they were gone when I returned I thought, so be it for as I’d said to myself the night before, it wouldn’t change anything now. Perhaps they were hunting together or making love for all I knew. Either way, they should enjoy one another’s company. I smiled somewhat tersely as I walked. They knew of course that I loved them, but what truth did such a label hold anymore? Did such words have any greater effect coming from my mouth than they might if displayed on a billboard in Times Square? What was love to me?

I shook my head. Where was my flask of sweet denial now?

Ah, right. There she was, watering the hanging baskets in the market stalls now that the glaring sun would not burn the flower petals.

I approached with the look of a lost foreigner and after excusing myself, asked for directions to my own hotel. Her laugh was delightfully warm and when she touched my shoulder, I wanted to scoop her into my arms and dance the night away. Instead, I simply took her hand in mine and let our eyes meet. She swayed a bit unsteadily and I brought her into the embrace there in the shadows where she gave all but her life to impede my self-derision. I left her covered snugly on someone’s little cot and was once more on my way.

With her blood sweet and steadily coursing through my body, I walked for another half-hour and then paused with a knowing look upward at a row of long, narrow windows in a diamond pattern of leaded glass.

I was standing outside the gates of the at once famed yet mysterious

Motherhouse. How many cameras might be pointed at me in this very moment, I wondered. Well, I hadn’t come here to play hide and seek. I leapt over the gate with ease and strolled across the lawn as though I were casually set to meet an old acquaintance. I heard an alarm sound somewhere in the building; Ah yes, there above a rear wooden door that was large enough to admit elephants, I saw a security camera panning about until it focused right on me. You know what I did? I waved and gave my best full-fanged smile to whoever sat on the other end.

Whispers: I could hear one excited voice, the quick rush of footsteps as others were alerted. So what? A vampire on the grounds of the Talamasca Motherhouse? To be sure, they had their share of spirits in and out of the building, but I should think werewolves, aliens and yeti might drop by at any given time, unless they weren’t as ballsy as me. I laughed: A family of yeti would probably smell like wet dogs in London dampness and I pictured those old scholars with their noses wrinkled in displeasure as they made their introductions.

“Is it you?”

A whisper broke me from the humored reverie. A tall, thin woman looked at me cautiously through the Judas gate, her eyes wide.

“I don’t know.” I turned and gave her a milder version of a smile. “I suppose that depends on who you believe I am, now doesn’t it?”

“David Talbot’s legendary vampire, is it true? Our agent claimed to have seen you last night near Waterloo station.”

So I’d been right in my assumption. I had felt the strangeness of eyes upon me without being followed, a bit like what it was like when we moved into a mortal’s mind but more academic in nature. I had ignored it for the most part only because given the feel of it, I knew it to be Talamascan. In truth, I never expected to escape their notice in this city. They ruled over the metaphysical as surely as Elizabeth and her gang ruled over the commoners. That Daniel was here was a passing fancy. That I was in town? Well, that was front page news. I felt it only right to acknowledge their reconnaissance with a personal visit.

“Quite right, Cherie. The question is why I have shown up on your most sacred ground, wouldn’t you say?”

“Well, I…”

I heard fumbling behind the door, a mixture of several voices and finally it opened, and before me stood a short gentleman with antiquated mutton-chops.

He reminded me of the man on the Monopoly board, what was his name? Pennybags, moneybags? Something like that eh?

“Monsieur de Lioncourt,” He gave a short bow in my direction. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“I was in the neighborhood.” I shrugged. “Your man told you as much. It’s most rude to spy on me you know.”

“It’s equally as rude to show up and pronounce judgments.” The woman said as she stepped up beside the squat little man.

I looked her over, surprised by the audacity of her retort.

“Perhaps so… Melinda.” I inched closer and smelled fear from the short fellow and the two taller strangers behind him, but her scent … ah yes, upon it swirled confidence and intrigue, mixed with the obvious notes of the citrusy perfume she wore and the slight tang of shampoo in the shining brunette curls that hung wayward over her shoulders. I wanted at once to spurn her and invite her to walk with me until sunrise.

“What is it we might do for you, Sir?”

“You know, I’m no longer certain.” I laughed softly at myself. I loved the subtle dance of fearful respect in his aged eyes. “It is enough for me to say that while I’m here as they saying might go, I know that you know I’m here but I expect to be left alone and you would do well to call back that agent from outside Mr. Molloy’s hotel. You’ll find out soon enough what business we have with one another, I’m sure.”


	35. Sealing Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat meets up with Daniel once again to confirm the matter at hand.

Lestat

Sealing Fate

At that, I gave a short bow and an unforgettable smile. For a few seconds, I let my stare fall deliberately on the sassy female agent. I sent her a vision that was sure to infiltrate her dreams, and then turned away from them all. They were apparently too stunned to whisper or perhaps held all thought for fear of provoking my extended stay. Either way, I leapt back over the gate and was off into the night with time on my hands.

Do you think I sampled the London fare, as it were? Am I getting predictable? Perish the thought – but yes of course I chose to delve into the underground scene where I found a lovely young couple more than willing to share the stash of heroin they’d just stolen. I wondered if the young lady knew that her dreadlocked lover had killed a teenager the night before… accidentally of course. I convinced them soon enough that while I most certainly wanted to ‘get high’, I didn’t need a needle for the purpose; that I would rather show than tell. I sat and watched as they further ruined their arms with the junk, and then I prepared to indulge. As they reclined on the ratty sofa in the back of the smoke filled club, I drank their swirling hot blood, rampant with chemicals. How do I describe this? Perhaps a mortal might think of the difference between slowly savoring a glass of a rare

Bâtard-Montrachet and taking a quick and nasty hit from a bottle of Thunderbird: In the end both could technically be labeled ‘wine’, and so too the blood of a junkie is no less sanguine.

I left them in repose and stumbled back out onto the street. My head reeled from the drugs and rather than plod along drunkenly, I sat upon a bench and watched the people pass by in a blur. Again I thought of Louis and David and what they might be doing to pass the time: Louis’ face swam before me like a mirage and I wanted nothing more than to touch him and in doing so, transport us back to the time spend in the Caribbean when nothing had mattered beyond our happiness. I saw David looking at me sternly, his eyes filled with something not quite definite: If a mixture of disappointment and empathy had a word then that was what I saw.

As the effect of the drug waned, I began to walk toward Daniel’s hotel. I thought about the permeable longing that often surrounded David. I presumed Louis or any other immortal could sense it and probably his manservant, Charles, given their years of closeness.

Brian could sense when things were off with Louis to be sure and for that fact, I assumed that he would be quite concerned with this turn of events even if he didn’t know the full details. I thought about calling him just to assure that I was taking care of matters here and that Louis and I would both be home soon. I had his number pulled up, but then decided against it. For the moment, it seemed like another presumptive intrusion if not necessarily a distracting vignette in the unfolding play.

By the time I entered the lobby of the Plaza, my head was clear. Three in the morning meant few mortals in the public area and the desk clerks were busy, heads down to their accounting of the daily receipts. Unnoticed, I took the elevator to his floor and disengaged the lock on his door with one short mental click. The room was empty. As much as I was tempted to examine his paperwork and books, I closed my eyes and found him on the roof. I went out the window and like a famous web-slinging hero, scaled the three floors that separated us. As I crawled over the top, he had just emerged from the pool. I stood, smoothed my shirt and headed toward him.

“You could have just taken the stairs you know?”

His skin glistened beneath the hotel’s chosen purple lighting. He stood in silhouette against the rippling blue water like a neon God.

“I could have, but I like to vary the routine for my own amusement.” I replied as I handed him a towel from the nearby chaise then sat down in its place. “I have to say, your fine form is reward enough for my efforts.”

It seemed he dried off with deliberate slowness just for my benefit. The bulge beneath the thin material would have caught anyone’s attention and while I had no such intentions toward him, I certainly could appreciate his attributes.

“Mm hm,” He tossed the towel onto a nearby table. “Don’t get your mind going in that direction, Lestat. You won’t wind up in my bed tonight. I hate to shatter your infamous ego, but you’re really not my type.”

I stood once more as he headed toward the door that led to the interior corridors.

“Oh but Daniel, despite your proclaimed feminine preferences I could change your mind if I were so inclined, and that’s not conceit – it is confidence.”

“Right.” He rolled his eyes. “Let’s get on with the real reason for your visit.”

He led the way down to his room and we entered properly with the plastic key. He took a moment to scan the space as is a vampire’s habit. I waited behind him in silence.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to shower and change – and no, I don’t need any assistance, thank you.”

I gave him a nonplussed expression: Who me?

Once he left the room, I drew the double draperies aside to again take in the magnificent view. The London Eye, Parliament, and the famous Tower of London were all visible. I thought of The Motherhouse, and those inside as they slept. Did they dream of me? What had I hoped to accomplish in visiting their sacred grounds?

I shrugged and leaned down to Daniel’s Ipod where it sat in one of those docking stations. I could at least be nosy and see what music he preferred. To my surprise, there was a wide variety of classic rock. I selected a few tracks and sat down at the desk while Mick Jagger told a familiar story about a scarred old slaver who was doing alright.

Without disturbing the papers, I could ascertain that Daniel was securing a consulting deal with an architectural firm here in London. There were blueprints and sketches of what appeared to be a concert hall and as Mick gave way to Eric Clapton, I traced the drawn cornices with my finger; my mind was miles away.

“Please don’t smudge the plans.”

He spoke from behind me and startled, I lifted my hand from the thin paper. I apologized in a mumble and he turned the music down before taking the seat opposite mine. He wore casual, almost pajama-like pants and a thin tank top that revealed a pretty impressive physique. I wondered if I’d ever seen him so personally and thought that no, I had not. Daniel had always been something of an ancillary player in our coven. Armand had fairly seen to it that this fine young vampire took a back seat to everyone else and now to see him in this more intimate setting, I found a new appreciation for him that begged to be explored. Yet I knew there was a specific reason I’d come to him and so with a sigh, broached the subject.

“Daniel, listen…” I started. “This thing with Tristan, I could say I never meant for it to happen – hell, I have said that to myself and to pretty much everyone else, but it isn’t the truth.”

“That’s obvious.” He snorted. “What I don’t understand is why you don’t just do the turn yourself.”

“I have my reasons.” I left it at that but instantly put up a mental wall.

“Lestat, I’m not going to lie: I’ve thought about Lucas since the night of his death.

Sometimes I wish I had turned him. I don’t know if that would have been better or worse for him in the long run and I certainly don’t know if it would have been better for me. As much as you or anyone believes me to be some sort of dependent imbecile, I’m actually living a very nice life – in as much as we can, you know.”

“I don’t think of you like that, Daniel. Honestly, I don’t believe anyone sees you that way by now.”

“Having someone … like that, for myself… it’s a big step. It’s no less than the mortal decision to father a child, and I sure as hell wouldn’t want that at this juncture if I were capable.”

I nodded in understanding. Of course we wouldn’t have to go through the squalling years of teething and diapers, but I more than agreed when I thought of fumbling, sticky, snot-nosed toddlers.

“But you’re not wrong to say that I have deep regret for not doing more for Lucas. I liked the kid and he had real promise. You got him started on the right road - despite the detours.”

He laughed softly and I found myself entranced by his eyes. They were the color of the softest purple-steel clouds of twilight.

Had Louis been so captivated by them as he told mortal Daniel our tale? I thought of Louis’ eyes reflected in these violet orbs and felt a delicious shudder run through my body.

“Hm?” I paused. “Oh yes, well, it seems very little goes according to plan with my mortal involvements.”

“That’s clear. Still, we both know that had you not come into his life, Lucas might have died even sooner and missed out on even a few years of enjoyment.” “Perhaps.” I nodded.

“And this boy, Tristan? He’s a stranger to me but one thing I can gather is that when you took up with Lucas, it was only because you wanted to be with Tristan. Lucas was nothing more than a substitute, and that fact Lestat, is deplorable.”

“It is, I’ll agree.”

“But…” He sighed and got up from his chair without finishing the sentence.

He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a pack of cigarettes. I watched him light one and take in the scent of the tobacco. He sat there with it in his fingers which gave him a more mortal appearance. For over five minutes, there was silence as we watched the mesmerizing smoke rise in a swirl toward the slowly rotating ceiling fan.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to the idea of doing this as some form of redemption. But you knew that already and it’s why you chose to ask me above all other possible candidates – though I’d imagine they were few.”

“Yes, they were indeed.” I watched him snuff the cigarette in a crystal ashtray.

“Does that mean you’re willing?”

“Oh come on now. You knew I would be willing before you even came here,

Lestat. Don’t play games with me.”

“Actually, I figured you would be unwilling but that I could persuade you.” I smiled accordingly.

“Oh yes, your persuasive abilities again: You really do have a high opinion of yourself.”

“It’s well warranted I assure you. Get to know me further and you’ll come to agree.”

He laughed outright and shook his head.

“Lestat, to make a stranger… I’m still not certain. I wish I could know this boy even a little before it happened. I can glean impressions from you and bounced off of others – Louis and David I can tell promise, are watching him very closely.”

“I would expect so, yes. Are you saying you want to meet him? Should I go back to

Italy and collect him from his flat in Rome, bring him to the villa where Louis and David are staying with me and invite you into the mix? Should I tell him everything?”

“Trust that he already knows to an extent. When I had that first feel of immortal blood mixed with mine… Those nights where I craved it? My God, the feel of it is like nothing else, not even the cheap heroin you imbibed tonight.” He regarded me with a disapproving frown. “I thought you would be too high-brow for such a thing.”

“I slum it now and again, what can I say?” I shrugged.

“Yeah. I get it.” He nodded. “I used to be Armand’s reason for such behavior, remember?”

“Does that history compel your decision now?”

“Maybe, but not so much. Armand might figuratively shit himself, especially if he knows I did it for you but then again he might think nothing of it at all. I want you to know something: I will stay with Tristan the night of the turn, and for his first kills – but after that, he’s on his own. Any obligation on my part, any debt I owe to Lucas, will be done.”

“I see.”

The music had changed into nameless lounge beats, and I studied him as he rose from the kitchen counter and came to where I sat.

“From that point on, you should be the one to take care of him. I’m sure you have your own reasons to seek redemption.”

I narrowed my eyes slightly. “I don’t think you need to worry about what karmic debts I might owe. I want to hear it solidly, Daniel, that you’ve made up your mind to do this for Tristan.”

“I’ll do it and yes, for him and not for you. I’ll do it with the limitations I’ve already disclosed. Give me a few nights to conclude my business here. Actually no, I’m going to need longer than that.” He calculated as I watched. “I’m going to need at least ten nights. I have to finish up here, and I have… something back in New York that I won’t put off simply for your convenience. Ten nights, and I’ll be in Italy. There’s no need to have him at the villa with Louis and David to witness the event unless the exhibitionist in you demands it. You say he’s in Rome. Why not take him out to an appropriate site of ancient sacrifice for the transition?”

“Ten nights then.” I nodded. “Time is of the essence I feel, and yes, I understand your limitations as you call them. I certainly won’t press you to do more than the turn, though I can hope that you will feel the desire to be with Tristan for longer than those first nights of his immortality. He can be persuasive too, and I am sure you’ll find him even more worthy than Lucas.”

“We’ll see. I make no promises. I’ll call you from New York to arrange the final details, and don’t follow me in the meantime.”

I nodded again and rose. Outside the window in the far Eastern sky the faintest light of morning crept along the horizon. I thought of Tristan but did not delve into his sleeping mind. What would I tell him when I got back to Italy? How exactly does one break the news that mortal death is immanent, but assure such a soul that there’s something far better in exchange? What if I had been dealt such news and honestly given the choice? I smiled as I scribbled my cell number and address on a scrap of paper: Hell’s bells. I would have leapt at the chance.


	36. Homeland ~ Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat decides there is no reason to hurry back to Italy and makes a stopover in Auvergne.

Lestat

Homeland ~ Part One

With the agreement settled, there was no reason for me to linger in London. Just after sunset, I caught a short flight to Paris and from there made my way to Clermont-Ferrand, the capital of the Auvergne region not so far from my mortal home. I was in no hurry to get back to Italy where I would be met with the hurt in Louis’ eyes and the exasperation from David. I understood at least two facets of his frustration: First, he was angry with me for the wounds inflicted yet again upon his immortal brother, and second, after my alluding to his own mysterious and long lost fledgling, he was struggling with the many emotions associated with that name. I had little thought or commentary in regard to the matter of his errant creation and as for the harm I'd imposed on Louis, I knew that it may well be irreparable.

So I took my time and walked around a city that in some ways hadn’t changed much over the centuries. There was a major industrial complex now so the air was not as clean as it had been when I was a boy. I stopped to look at the cathedral but did not venture inside. I felt like an unworthy sinner being spied upon by ancient eyes. I crossed over to the main Place de Jaude and sat on a bench to consider the Bartholdi statue of Vercingetorix with his imperial posture and sword at the ready. How long ago had it been that he had fought the Roman invasion under Caesar? The city then had been called Nemossos. It was long before my mortal birth and when I heard such things from Gabrielle and my brothers I secretly fell in love with the name bestowed upon the place by the Gauls. It meant ‘sacred forest’ and in my youthful imagination, it was a place of mystery I yearned to explore. I got up and walked toward the lovely grounds of Jardin Lecoq and thought of how my homeland had suffered over time. Throughout history, Auvergne was frequently besieged and plundered, including once by the notorious King Euric. As a child I would sometimes say I wish I had been witness and participant to those atrocities, and at other times I would have nightmares after my brother’s historical embellishments. Yet how linked it all was now seemed no coincidence to me – the element of Roman involvement with my country and now there was a boy in Rome about to become immortal; the Gauls, that mysterious tribe from whom Mael had come, my birth in this country so long ago and the destiny that had awaited and unfolded as long dead ancestors laughed in their tombs.

 _It is all connected, Lees-Dot_ , I heard Khetsun whisper in my ear. _You know this now as you knew then ._ I scoffed and walked on toward the dark concealment at the edge of the park where decades before I’d found the remains of ancient crypts. I found with some disappointment that they had been destroyed by vandals but that was probably for the best in this case. It had been my intent to sleep there for the day, but I told myself that that a luxurious room at the nearby Oceania Hotel would be much more appropriate. As I walked, I called and made a reservation with the usual requirements. It was a short distance and before too long I was gratefully being shown to my room. It was far smaller than the suite Louis and I had shared when we made a long overdue trip to this region, but I had no need for such palatial accommodations now, and in truth all I wanted was a long soak in the deep spa tub before I slept.

The water ran full hot while I undressed and made sure the draperies had been doubled. Tomorrow it would be time to return to Ravello and assure David and Louis that the arrangements were in place. Was that the right word? Did they want assurance? Maybe it was only me who wanted it - I didn’t know anymore: I was exhausted.

I slipped into water that would have scalded mortal flesh and let my head rest on the gently sculpted ledge. I might have fallen asleep if it had not been for the images that ran through my mind: Tristan in the videos he’d made for me, laughing in the sunlight with his friends; Tristan in his flat looking up at me from a book he’d rifled through to find a line of text and prove a point; Tristan at the villa in my arms, sleepy and warm after making love; Tristan… how would I tell him?

An hour passed and I pulled myself from the bath. I sat on the edge of the satin comforter, without much care. For the price of the room I was more than entitled to get the linens wet by whatever means. I slipped into the cool welcome of the sheets and fell asleep while looking up at the paintings of long departed French faces so different from any I knew in this age.

When my eyes opened, those faces remained and said, wake up sweet prince, the night is waiting. Wasn't that something I'd heard for over two centuries now?

I flung away the blankets and savored the sudden chill on my flesh. Naked, I pulled back the heavy draperies and stared out at the silence beyond the windows. I stood there lost in the flotsam of my thoughts as I felt my mood sliding downward into a now notoriously cold, cruel indifference. Why beleaguer the facts? Daniel was surely with Tristan at this very moment, delivering the news that he was about to become one of us. What if his offer was refused?

I hadn't thought of that possibility until now, but it was after all, a choice for most recipients - though that depended widely on the perceived definition of the word choice.

My eyes narrowed and I felt an erotic shiver travel up my spine. I needed mortal blood.

As I was dressing, my phone came to life with the sound of Louis' ringtone and despite the darkness brooding in my mind I had to smile. I picked up the call and greeted him as warmly as if he were on his way home to me for a blissful night of intimacy.

"Bonsoir Amant," I waited to hear his voice and in that instant, missed it beyond words.

"Lestat," He said without any emotional inflection though I could always hear his inherent gentleness. "I wanted to let you know that David and I are leaving

Italy this evening."

I wondered, did Louis on the other end of the line imagine my reaction - did he picture the way I moved the little phone away from my lips as I pursed them in consideration? Of course he knew my tendency toward animated expression better than anyone. The subsequent silence must mean he was picturing it as such and waiting for me to pick up the conversation. "I see." What more could I say? If they'd made up their minds, I wasn't going to stop them. There was little reason for them to be involved any longer and in hindsight, I'd already concluded that I should have just pulled off the caper without even telling Louis or David until it was a done deal.

"We'll be going back to New Orleans, and I suppose we will all see one another once this has settled."

"Yes, I suppose that sounds logical. I'm not sure, but I should be back to the States in a few nights from your arrival there. It will be nice to be home again. Louis, I spoke to Daniel last night and I want you to know that it isn't just a matter of my manipulating him into doing this act - He's given it a lot of thought and he now understands that he's the right choice for Tristan."

I heard an undisguised derisive snort. "I'm not interested in further discussion of the event, Lestat. I'm sure you have it well in hand and even if you don't it hardly matters now."

"You don't have to…" But the call was over. The blankness of a dropped call hung in my ear and though I thought about calling him back only to scream at him for hanging up on me - which he knows I find infuriating - I lay slipped the phone in the pocket of my jacket and went on about the business of preparing for a long overdue course of French fare. Let him be angry with me, let David be angry with me and Daniel and Tristan and the whole fucking world. Tonight the vampire Lestat was on his home turf and eager to drink. For now, that was all that mattered.


	37. Homeland ~ Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furthering his stopover in Auvergne.

Lestat

Homeland ~ Part Two

As I walked toward the darkened public garden, it felt almost odd to be on the hunt. I was past the point of needing blood to survive, but it was no secret that I still enjoyed a binge from time to time. Still, I had been indulging exclusively on one particularly delicious mortal for several months and that sort of intimacy is nothing like the seduction and game of finding your prey. In my own mortal years when I had gone into the forests, I had found quiet delight in circling the tracks in the snow without stealth. I didn't care if the animals sensed my presence, for like hunters before and since I knew that in the end, they would come back blindly to the traps I had set.

That memory brought forth a small laugh. Perhaps all that time I had been in training for the life of a vampire without even knowing it… but someone knew it, didn't they. Eyes had been watching me and settling on a decision. There are those who will wonder if I watched Tristan with the same appraisal. I will confess that on the first night we met in person, I had a split-second flashing thought that he would be a stunning immortal but beyond that the answer is no. In all the nights we were intimate, for the countless times I shared sweet blood-tinged kisses with him, there was never any true intent to bring about the circumstances that now existed. My profession of innocence will be overruled of course. I hear it in my own mind, 'how could you not have known, Lestat?', but I can offer no other excuses in the matter. Simply, there are facets of myself that even after all this time I do not know or understand. Those facets, like cuts upon the rarest of gems, are extremely costly.

"Are you lost Monsieur? I'm afraid the garden is closed at this hour." I heard the sweet melody of a young French voice behind me.

"I am not lost, simply enjoying the night." I replied to her in the old language.

"Companionship …" she said. "If you mean female companionship, you would do better to walk to the taverns."

"But what if I prefer the sort of woman who would seek out the beauty of a place such as this over the dingy noise of a tavern where fools and drunkards have but one thing on their minds?"

"Your language… how strange the words you choose. The old ones, they speak in such a way but you certainly aren't from their time. You must live or work with the aged? Men in this time hardly phrase things so politely."

"I find that politeness produces a much more desirable result all around. Wouldn't you agree?" I stepped out of the shadow and more into the amber lamplight where I tentatively reached for her hand.

She lowered her gaze and then once more met my eyes. We said nothing as we faced one another, but she wouldn't have had the ability to flee if the thought had even crossed her mind - which it didn't. In fact, quite a few other, very suggestive thoughts caused her to smile and come closer.

"Forgive me," she said softly. "You are quite unlike others I have met." A tender little laugh spilled from her lips. "You tempt me to forget what is proper,

Monsieur."

"Propriety can be so boring." I teased. "What if just for a minute, you pretend no one has ever made a rule about anything. Can you imagine?" My expression grew more intense, for as close as she was, I could smell the heat of desire in her blood. She came into my arms and reached one hand to touch my face. Ah no darling, I thought… you don't want to feel the beautiful horror of it, let me spare you. I caught her hand and brought it to my lips, kissing it properly as our waltz began.

"We could go to my rooms…" she offered.

"Still attempting to be proper, Cherie?" I laughed softly as I backed her into the darkness of the garden and against a giant tree. "I think the night is warm enough I might wish to taste you here and now. I told you to imagine there have never been any rules. What would you allow yourself, ma belle?"

"I would allow…" Her breath quickened. "Kiss me, yes… please."

And kiss her I did - along her finely sculpted cheekbones and downward to the rise and fall of her breasts. When she wrapped her arms around me insistently, I could resist no longer. I flicked my tongue along her neck and sank my teeth deep into the jugular that pulsed with her libidinous thoughts. In that instant as I pulled the deliciousness of her life into my mouth, she saw the two of us impassioned beneath the stars; she thought she felt my hands pleasure her to climax and in the end, she felt a high that no drug could ever produce. As her eyes closed for the last time she wore a smile.

And I was intoxicated - but not yet satisfied. When I left her, dawn was hours away and fueled by her contribution, I decided to follow her advice and browse the taverns. By the time I made my way back to the hotel, I had stolen a not-solittle drink from several entertaining patrons and just to top things off, killed a vagrant who stumbled onto my path.

I am forever incorrigible it seems. I laughed out loud as I meandered farther along the little alley, until I stopped to listen to the night wind. Had I heard or only imagined it? On the breeze it came once more - the faintest strains of a violin. It faded with the crosswind then resumed, teasing me to follow. I turned away then paused once more as it came from not so far away, but I thought surely I was imagining such a thing. Between Claudia and Nicolas, there were always ghostly illusions hanging around and I had ingested more than enough blood to provoke them. Still it came to my ears from a building on my right and I looked up with curiosity to scan the rooms. Yes, there, on the fifth floor was a young boy practicing his recital piece. You see, I said to myself, no ghosts, no magic. I mentally moved inside his room, saw him there with his eyes closed, his head pressed against the instrument, and yes my heart ached for a brief second or two as always. Abruptly, I spun down into my own mind once more so hard that I staggered on the pavement. No, I was not going to allow useless memories to detract from the pleasurable night I'd experienced.

_Your eyes see what your heart is afraid to witness, Lees-Dot._

Christ on the cross, enough already. If it wasn't the spirits of my long-dead fledglings torturing me, it was not-so-long-dead gurus. Witness my ass.

I entered the hotel and secured my room to guard against the light of day. I wanted more blood. I yearned for a pulse pressed against my lips as surely as any alcoholic ever longed for the cold, curved glass of a bottle. I was suddenly filled with the raw need of it that bordered on indefinable anger.

I couldn't even deny the thought that raced through my mind: I wanted Tristan. I wanted to be inside him, I wanted to taste his sweet surrender and claim every inch of him once more.

Before I could shed my bloodstained clothes, I succumbed to hallucination. The faintness of the violin taunted me and I saw myself again on the street below the boy's window. Had he sold his watch here in Clermont to buy the wicked instrument? I shook my head but the music only grew louder. Stop it do you hear me? The boy laughed and punished the bow until it produced Mozart as I'd known it two centuries past. Like a mad player from Scaramouche or Harlequin, the boy danced lively as he played. "In me there is only darkness. You knew it all along." he said, followed by a peal of laughter.

"Stop, I tell you!" I screamed into the silence of my room loud enough to surely wake the entire hall. The disjointed world fell away and Mozart was no more. I stood there shaken and cold but underneath the fading hallucination I felt that anger roll in slow, inviting waves. "Go to hell where you belong, Nicolas. Leave me alone." I said "You have no point to prove here." But he was never one to leave things alone and that I'd been so rattled by the strongest vision I'd had in a decade told me that there was something to examine.

To hell with that for now, I thought as I crawled into bed. The phone rang on the little table and I assured the manager that everything was quite alright. I pictured his face if I told him instead that no, it's not really alright. You see I'm a vampire and my idiot child who was also a vampire but is now dead is causing me grief.

Yes we can die but that's a long story you may wish to read at a later date. Sometimes I wished I could just spit it all out in such a fashion. Ah yes, I've already done it haven't I and many a time for all the good it did. I looked around as I slipped under the covers, but everything was in place. No tempting illusions hung like spider webs in the corners. As I recovered, I felt again the pull of desire for a warm body beside me. I began to dream of Tristan.

The setting was the party of the night I'd first seen him. Tiny amber lights hung from the trees while in the grand courtyard, tall braziers lit the dance floor. We were tucked in a shadowed corner, pressed against the stone wall as we shared passionate kisses. His hands traveled slowly toward my waist and even lower where he insistently coaxed me to a painful hardness. I wanted him with an allconsuming lust that overpowered all sense of reason. Before I could react, I felt his teeth against my flesh. He bit deeply, but no, that made no sense: Mortal teeth even if filed into nifty gothic-style fangs could not so easily penetrate. I felt the unmistakable pull as he drew my blood into his mouth. He groaned loudly with the pleasure of it and I tried to pull away but remained steadfast against the wall as he bit into my neck once again. He tore away my shirt and regarded me with an all-too-familiar madness in his eyes before angrily sinking his teeth into my breast. My blood was flowing from the wounds unstoppably and I felt it soak the sleeves of my shirt and seep into my pants. It was not possible that he could inflict such harm upon me and why would he want to do this on the night we first met? I hadn't touched him! In the next instant, I was naked and lying on the lawn while he stood some yards away. Bites appeared on my torso, my legs and dangerously close to other places where I'd just as soon not be bitten. As though I were the recipient of some invisible vampire-gifted stigmata, I lay there screaming and swatting away the unseen offender. Tristan came closer and stood over me where he let out a laugh that could only come from one who has gone insane. He was infused with blood and he began to dance with a madness to equal his mirth. A crowd gathered and began to applaud as he leapt and from where I lay, appeared to levitate.

"Can you not see what has happened?" I yelled. I felt surely the shocking volume of my voice would bring it all to a halt, but they continued to be greatly amused and keep time with Tristan's dance. I was bleeding to death while he entertained an audience. He regarded me once more - did he even gesture to me to draw their eyes to my plight? I could not tell, for I was growing weaker. I lay back on the lawn and watched as he side stepped toward the substantial wall surrounding the courtyard. Sideways, he walked up the rough stone surface, twirling as he ascended. Yes, yes, marvelous trick, that. Everyone let out a collective note of amazement as blackness threatened my vision.

"Tristan!" I called out loudly. He paused only a moment to look at me with a piteous smile.

"Come now and let me drink. I must be restored!" Silently I thought that's right… stop the charade and I will forgive you for your carelessness. Who am I to judge after all, but damn you get over here right now and give me back the blood I need to teach you a lesson.

"Tristan, damn you!" I screamed. My voice was faded but I saw him turn an angry gaze upon me before waving off the crowd and storming across the lawn.

He looked down and cackled. "You did damn me, Lestat, like no one but you could have done it!"

"But I didn't touch you!" I spit as my head fell back onto the grass. "We just met.

You did it all yourself!"

He leaned away from me and seemed to bow a little before once then twice leaping over my body with a mid-air twirl for emphatic flair. As I looked up, he landed one foot on either side of me and leaned down. As he came closer, his eyes were glowing from an unmistakable inner light. I felt his breath upon my face and felt the sharpness of newly formed fangs as he pulled my bottom lip in a sinister kiss. "Ah, but you never had any doubt I would."

  

*********

I slept fitfully through the rest of the day and awakened well past eight with a longing for home. My time in Italy had turned into something of a debacle but I would maintain, despite the suggestion held in the dream, that I had no intention of said result. Now, my homeland held memories of a different sort that would only lead me into a depressive state if I hung around too long. It was time to head back to New Orleans. It is a city unlike any other where it seems for our kind and our particular little coven, things generally right themselves sooner or later. I've always believed that the city holds an endless supply of spiritual energy from century upon century, far more than any place I've ever held residence. It is my touchstone, and there beneath the grand oaks, along the misted avenues, I have found contentment even when otherwise things aren't so peaceful in my world.

As I looked out over the early evening streets, I thought over the dream and of course my mind turned to Daniel and Tristan. It would be easy enough to get a mental fix on their location should I choose, but as a peculiar sadness came over me I realized that it would be far better for everyone if I removed myself from that particular scene entirely. Daniel had agreed to accept the responsibility and as he had told me - there were good reasons for him to do it, but I'd known that all along. I shook my head: No, I hadn't had this planned, damn it.

It was true enough that when Tristan and I first became involved, when we first shared the blood on those passionate nights, I'd measured how he might be as an immortal. Still, I had done that with a hundred others that were not now in such a

place as Tristan. I wondered what he was thinking about all of it, but there was no point in my curious intervention now. What was I going to do after all, pick up the phone and ask how the transition to eternal life was going?

Aside from David and Louis, those I'd brought into this life had not fared well. I don't have to say their names; the whole world knows, don't they? I stand firm when I say that had I intended what happened with Tristan, if I had gone into the relationship with him and any intent to turn him, I damn sure would have steered it toward a better resolution than it now held. Sure, Daniel was more than capable - he wasn't the doddering vampire-gone-stupid as some came to see him.

He had recovered from that brilliantly and once he made up his mind to walk away from Armand for good - or at least for a few centuries to come - Daniel's world had seemed to find balance perhaps more than any other immortal. He'd be good to Tristan and show him what it meant to live in these times with the gifts of the ancients at his disposal. But of course I knew… I knew as I began to pack what few clothes I had, that Daniel, Tristan and everyone else was condemning me for not doing the turn myself.

I called and made arrangements for a private flight back to America. In my mind I played out the way I'd have done it. I supposed it wasn't too late to appear on the horizon and sweep him into my arms and make him my own forever, but I knew that by now for my apparent disregard, Tristan might slice his own throat rather than allow my intervention to that degree. But that wasn't a concern, because I didn't want to do it anyway and the greatest truth was that I didn't really know what- I wanted from the whole thing.

I checked my cell phone. There were no messages from Louis or David, but perhaps they were already headed back to the States. I felt a wave of melancholy for their companionship as we may have enjoyed one another in the not too distant past. I wouldn't fool myself into thinking that any such camaraderie would be taking place soon. Louis was justifiably hurt yet again, and David while hurt for Louis, was rather more aghast that I would allow such a thing to transpire. Still for either of them, and perhaps for myself and Tristan, I had no true and sincere explanations. Whether I would find them in time and have any remaining audience remained to be seen.

With resolve, I called my legal liaison and announced that the house in Ravello was once more to be secured and cleaned, and the owner notified of its vacancy. I felt I was saying goodbye to the magnificent beauty of Italy forever. I smiled only slightly as I secured my travel bag. Forever is a relative term: Maybe only for a thousand years, I thought. I closed my eyes and sat on the edge of the bed. Without much effort I picked up a ripple from Tristan's mind. Did he feel me? He walked with Daniel in the courtyard of what I assumed was a hotel. I shook my head as I mentally touched his beautiful face and yearned for the feel of those full, warm lips. I loved him… though I doubt he or any other would do more than laugh at that sentiment now. My actions never really matched what was in my heart for any of those that meant everything to me. Despite how things were taking place or what reasons I had or didn't have, I once counted Tristan in that group and truly even as I sat alone this night I loved him. I wished only that he could know how much. Perhaps in time he would understand, or we would come to understand together, I couldn't say.

I stood up, made a few more calls and headed to the airport. I wanted the measure of comfort that home would bring, for there I was never alone. There was time to mull over everything else that would soon transpire. In a night or two, Tristan would be forever part of this world and it struck me that even if no one else saw it, there was a strange balance already in place. I could only hope it would be present and palpable enough to help all of us find our own resolutions in the end.


	38. Prelude To Pompeii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis and David share words and a room before going to Pompeii.

Louis

Prelude to Pompeii

Even as David acquiesced to my plea, Tristan turned to me, demanding to know if Lestat was with me. I stared at him for a moment, fighting the brief but intense urge to incinerate him where he stood and then I turned to David and mentally telegraphed to him my intent to leave. We fled the bar with vampire speed, blurring up the road before the mortals were aware of what was happening.

Unlike flight, I don’t mind this particular gift; it’s exhilarating and it is amazingly convenient in all manner of situations. Our sudden appearance before a young woman where we came to a stop caused her to react quite violently, dropping the bag she was carrying. She stumbled against the crumbling façade of a closed storefront, cursing in a breathless sort of way. The ensuing minutes in which David took the time to ease her fear with both gentle voice and deft mind touch put a little distance beyond the physical between what had just happened and our standing together on the shadowed side street we had moved to. We watched as the woman turned the corner and then I enfolded him into a strong embrace.

“It would have been better, Louis.” David said into my ear. His hand traveled my spine in a manner both soothing and arousing.

“Maybe.” I said, releasing him. “But that should be Lestat’s decision.”

“He tried to pass the decision to us, if you recall.” He said as we moved apart. His tone took the bite from the words.

“We both know he did that out of frustration because we did not fall in step with his plans. You would take it badly if he were to interfere with you in such a way as would I. It is not the solution as much as it might seem to be.” I gave him a halfsmile. “Don’t think for a moment it didn’t cross my mind.”

“Mmm. I felt that wave of heat just before we made our exit.” he said with a grim little smile of his own. We walked some distance in silence.

“I will not return to Ravello. I see no point in waiting around for Lestat to wheedle Daniel into doing this thing and even less point in what happens thereafter. “

“I quite understand and I am of the same mind, especially after this evening”, he said with a sigh.

“Lestat will be none too pleased when he realizes what almost occurred,” I admonished gently.

“I’ve no doubt he will get over it,“ David responded.

“Who is better acquainted with impulsive reactions then Lestat?”

“Mmm. Who, indeed?” David murmured with another sigh. After a few moments of walking in silence at a normal mortal gait, he suggested, “Let’s get a room here for the day, then venture to Pompeii tomorrow evening, shall we? Have you ever visited?” When I confessed that I hadn’t, he continued to urge me. “I’ve heard so much about it. When I was in the Talamasca, a number of our field agents would go to investigate it from time to time. They returned with some remarkable tales. Surely, while you are here so close, you should avail yourself of the opportunity to see it with me, hmm _?” Besides, I can’t see your wishing to return to Italy in the near future, can you?_

I frowned slightly. “No, I can’t see that, either,” I responded aloud to his mental question. I glanced sidewise at him, mentally probing his intentions toward Tristan. He met my glance at my unspoken touch with a half-smile.

“I love you, Louis. I would not do anything that would intentionally cause you distress,” he answered, but he refused to definitively agree that he would not return to harm the boy. I made no answer—I had the feeling that the issue would be resolve one way or another quite soon. I had stayed David’s hand for now and God knows I was not going to appoint myself Tristan’s damned guardian.

“I will go with you to Pompeii, though I fear I will not be much in the way of company. For now, however, I expect that we should be making plans for a place to crouch for the day. Would you mind doing the honors? Anywhere you choose will be more than suitable, I’m sure.” I smiled wanly. “Certainly there’s an app for that, yes?”

David already had his cell phone out and he raised an eyebrow at my feeble attempt at humor. “What a marvelous idea—Vampire Accommodations! A veritable cottage industry in the making. For now, we shall make do with what is available—“ his voice trailed off as he listened. “A moment, brother.”

I nodded, walking along beside him and listening with half an ear to his inquiries and instructions. Glancing his way and I noted the minute signs of stress that his countenance displayed in this small, unguarded moment; his voice held no hint of impatience, but the past nights had been no less difficult for him as they had been for me. The night that Lestat had laid out his plans there had been a moment between them, some wordless communication that I had just now recalled. It would no doubt have passed me by completely, as mired as I was in my own miserable anger, had it not been for a brief and entirely unguarded moment of gleaming pain that I felt from David. It had been a moment, only, a flash of summer lightning, and then David’s mental shields had come down with a nearly audible thud. Lestat had mentioned an enigma and now the word sounded in my mind, looming larger than the suggestion of a puzzle or a conundrum. What…

“We have a room.” David said suddenly, in a voice much louder than necessary. He was looking at me in a penetrating way and I realized he had been following my mental process just as he’d finished making the reservation. Before I could speak, he said “We should go. Dawn is near and I smell rain coming.”

I was treading uneasy ground, I realized, and I tendered this realization back to him with a brief thought: I had not meant to invade his privacy. He only nodded but I felt a wave of warmth from him and that was all I needed to understand that I had caused no real offense.  

“Prickly as hedgehogs, the two of us.” He said as we arrived at the doors of the hotel he’d chosen. It had begun to rain.

“Draw in your quills. You’ll frighten the clerk.” I advised. It was a relief to let go of my anger, even if I knew it had only retreated for the time being. I was nearly overcome with the weariness.

“We’ll need to share the bed, my dear.”

“All the more reason to pull in our quills, yes? I am sure I have nothing to fear regarding my innocence.”

David gave a gentlemanly snort and we went inside.


	39. Encountering the Ancient ~ Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David decides that the entire visit to Italy doesn't have to be a waste of time. He invites Louis to accompany him to the ruins of Pompeii and there, they get more than they'd anticipated.

David

Encountering the Ancient ~ Part One

Pompeii. After having heard so much about it, I was, nevertheless, unprepared for how busy it was. One would think touring Pompeii after dark would mean less crowds if not complete solitude. Of course, most of those who tour Pompeii are not “gifted” with seeing spirits.

New Orleans, my adopted home, certainly has its share of roaming spirits. There are still souls of slaves who died gruesome, untimely deaths from before the time when Louis still had mortal blood coursing in his veins and Pointe du Lac was one of many plantations along the Mississippi River. There are souls of soldiers, ranging from the War of 1812 to both Union and Confederate soldiers who met an end in what is known as the American Civil War. (Very few Southerners actually refer to it as “The War of Northern Aggression,” regardless of the rumors.) Too, we have our share of deceased mobsters and mulattos, killed for various and sundry reasons. I’ve also little doubt that some of the souls met their mortal end by means of voodoo and witchcraft, not to mention vampiric activity. I tend to ignore them all.

Louis looked up at me, perched upon one of the columns surrounding the Forum, above the crowded streets. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked a bit sardonically, his arms folded over his chest, one of the guide books I “borrowed” from the gift shop in his hand. “Taking the bird’s eye view, are you?”

I smiled and shook my head slightly. “If only you knew, love.” The spirits would have been jostling him if they had been solid. He gazed around and sighed. He knew of my “gift,” and his mind told me that he realized the situation, even though he himself was not bothered.

“Well, I am going to look at the mosaics in the House of the Tragic Poet,” he said, and his mind revealed the irony of the choice. “I thought you would want to see the Forum Baths, though, which are on the way.”

I continued to survey the mob, not looking at him. “I do, love. I’ll be there momentarily. Feel free to roam.”  

As I studied the spiritual beings, I was struck by two thoughts: according to tradition, Pompeii was originally comprised of approximately 12,000 persons, 2,000 of which were known to meet their end when Vesuvius erupted in 79 A.D. Yet, the sheer number of spirits simply had to be more than 2,000 unless every one of them had decidedly urgent business in the Forum at that hour. Still, one had to bear in mind that most spirits are not earthbound – most spirits will cross over to their next spiritual destination, whatever and wherever that may be. To have such a multitude here now would suggest that **none** of the deceased continued upon the journey, which seemed strange, to say the least.  

I was also struck by the bustling urgency of the spirits, rather like an ant hill that has been disturbed. My general impression was that they were rushing to and fro, many with objects and bundles in their arms, but with no real purpose. My gaze followed one older woman (“older” being relative: she was perhaps 40), carrying a silver statue of a seated Fortuna holding a large phallus, who crossed before me a half-dozen times. She did not seem to be seeking anyone or anything, yet she evidently felt pressed for time. There were gladiators, welldressed men and women in togas and robes, and others who wore the inscribed belts of slaves. But then, I noticed some in less ancient garb, and even some in near-modern dress, all scurrying, scurrying.

Suddenly, a young woman looked up at me, alarmingly not only conscious of my presence, but also cognizant that I was equally aware of hers. She approached the column where I stood, staring hard at me, then pointed. I inclined my head to acknowledge her gesture. She looked down and away, then back up to me, extending her arms, rather like a child who is demanding to be picked up. I couldn’t help but give her a puzzled smile and murmur, “What is it that you want, my beauty?” though I knew that she most certainly would not have understood modern English.  

She only reached more insistently. I lifted my brow and used the mind gift to levitate her to my level. It was quite odd, as I’d never before attempted moving an object with no physical substance; and I wondered why she could not have levitated herself.  

Perhaps she did not realize she should have had that ability. She reached to embrace me; and again, I experienced an odd sensation: a pressure that was at once there and not there. I hardly knew what I was to do, and I gingerly put an arm around her waist, wondering what Louis would be thinking if he were here.  

She made to whisper in my ear or kiss my cheek, I knew not which; but she grew frustrated with her inability to make me understand her intentions and drew back from me, again looking at me hard. Nevertheless, she clung to my shoulders as if in fear of falling from our perch. I shook my head, still smiling a bit sadly. “I’m sorry, love. I have no idea what you want of me,” I said aloud. “But you’ve nothing to fear.” I looked down and murmured with a chuckle to myself,

“Certainly not of falling.”

When I looked back at her, she was pointing again, though one arm still clung to my neck. I followed her gesture. “Mount Vesuvius? Yes, it erupted. But it hasn’t erupted since 1944. And even if it did, it could hardly harm you now.” She frowned and shook her head, gesturing impatiently to some nearer point. I furrowed my brow and lifted us into the air. “All right, then. Show me what you are insisting that I see.” I jerked my head toward her outstretched arm and nodded. She grabbed at me when we flew over the ruined town, much like those mortals I’ve transported thusly, her mouth forming the universal “oh!” of surprise and exhilaration, though she did not smile.  

She was looking down, then shook her head and pointed back to one of the two-story structures we had just passed. I looked back and redirected my course. “There?” Though she gave no gesture of assent, I descended to the cobbles where she was staring. As we alighted, she looked around again as if in fear, then reached to grasp my hand, to lead me away, frustrated again that her lack of substance could not affect my all-too-corporeal being. I gestured for her to lead the way, trying to convey an apology with my countenance that she could not physically drag me along.

In spite of her apparent ignorance of the ability to levitate, she exhibited no such inhibition when it came to lateral movement. Had I not been vampire, she would have seemed to disappear. Instead, I followed her easily down the narrow, unevenly paved thoroughfare, and into a small shop that still had its roof, where she turned in a circle as if looking for something.  

When she did not espy whatever she was seeking, her eyes came to rest on me, her countenance one of utter concentration. Again, she approached me, this time pointing to my throat, then pointing to her own. I shook my head with another quizzical smile. I fear I was not very adept at this game of charades. She lifted her hands in a frustrated gesture, then pointed again first to my throat and then to her own.

“I’ve no idea what you are trying to tell me, love. Yes, I can speak and no, you cannot,” I murmured uselessly. She would have jabbed at the base of my throat, just below my larynx, had she the ability to jab. I furrowed my brow and tilted my head. “Not speech. You are looking for something else,” I ventured. She pointed again to her own throat, then to the buttons on my tweed jacket, looking determinedly into my eyes. Suddenly, a memory came back to me. “Cameos? . . . Would you have known Petronia?”

At that her eyes grew wide and her hands came to her mouth in horror, and she began trembling, looking about herself frantically. She ran to me, if “ran” is the correct word for her swift gliding movement, and made as if to bury her face in my chest, her arms tucked protectively between us. I awkwardly embraced her, and strangely felt her trembling against me. I stroked at her ethereal hair. “You are beyond her, love. Just as you are beyond Vesuvius and falling from any height,” I murmured, feeling just a tad silly. “She cannot harm you.”

I opened up my mind to Louis and projected the thought: _This is Petronia’s territory, my brother. Remain alert._ Of course, I should have remembered that if Louis could “hear” me, so could any other vampire who might be listening in. No sooner was the thought given than I heard a verbal response behind me. “Yes, it is. Who are you and how do you know my name?”

I turned to face the vampire who was as tall as I was, dressed in a long black tunic, glossy hair cascading over her shoulders. The spirit which had been in my arms disappeared, and I felt her behind me, still hiding. I dropped my arms, then tilted my head, gazing at Petronia, whom Quinn Blackwood described so succinctly to Lestat.  

She was beautiful in an effeminately mannish way. She smirked at the name she had plucked from my thoughts. “Lestat,” she murmured somewhere between a purr and a spit. “So you must know of my useless fledgling.” She stepped closer to me, and I felt the spirit behind me tremble again.

“I would not call Quinn ‘useless,’ though I confess I do not know him well. Of course, I suppose he would be my, ah, brother-in-law-in-blood. I always thought it a bit gauche when people speak ill of their relatives.”  

I stood to my full height, carefully closing my thoughts to her, but trying to determine our comparative strength, should she turn combative. One must remember that neither size nor gender matters when vampires fight. Had that been the case, the match would have been fairly even. I might have had her by a few stone in weight, but she was also masculine and an undefeated gladiator, as well. None of that mattered, however. She was far older than I, made by one far more ancient than Lestat. However, Lestat had drunk his fill from Akasha, the original Queen of the Damned. He was rivaled in strength only by the Children of the Millennia, and perhaps Marius; and I daresay, he was stronger than most of them. And though I was quite young in the blood by comparison, I had drunk my fill from Lestat when I was first created and on numerous subsequent occasions. It would be an interesting bout; I was not at all sure I could best her.

As she walked slowly around me, I felt the spirit at my back disappear. I turned my head to follow her orbit, but otherwise did not move. “Who are you?” she asked again. Though she was examining me, it was evident that she did not ponder how we would fair in a tussle. She was confident that she could hand me my head on a platter and would be more than happy to prove it, should the need arise.  

I smiled faintly. “Surely that won’t be necessary. I am only here as a tourist, nothing more. I haven’t hunted here, nor do I intend to do so. All I have taken is a guidebook, but I will return it if it’s that important.”

Her hand was immediately at my throat, her face inches from mine, fangs gleaming as she demanded, “Are you mocking me?”

I looked into her eyes, projecting the thought since her hand impeded my voice, _No, good madam. I am not. I truly am here only on a sight-seeing expedition, being in the neighborhood. I do not understand your anger. I am not the first vampire here, nor likely to be the last. What would you have me do?_

At that, she threw me against a wall with a laugh. I managed to stay upright, straightening to my height and brushing the ancient plaster and dust from my shoulders, continuing to meet her eyes.

“Mon frère,” came Louis’ quiet voice from the doorway. Petronia swung around, eyes narrowed. He paused to gaze at her with his expressionless countenance, emerald eyes gleaming. “Are you going to introduce us?”

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Petronia’s thoughts were not shielded in the least. She could take me in an instant, but not two of us whose strength she could not truly gauge. “Ah, I’ve not even introduced myself, I’m afraid,” I responded.

Louis boldly stepped forward. “You must forgive my brother’s manners, madam. I am Louis de Pointe du Lac, and this is David Talbot. We are fledglings of Lestat de Lioncourt.” He reached out his hand to take hers. “And you must be the famous Petronia.” He brought her hand to his lips and murmured,

“Enchanté.” Though she was radiating hostility, she allowed the gesture, trying to read his thoughts, which were entirely closed. When he rose from his slight bow, he faced her squarely, having to look up just a bit to meet her gaze. “As my brother indicated, we are only passing through with a purely tourist objective. We intend to spend tonight and possibly tomorrow night investigating this marvelous archeological site. We mean no harm nor imposition.”

“Petronia, my love, is there a problem?” a deep, tired-sounding voice came from the doorway, and a dark-skinned vampire stepped into the room. It had to be Arion, Petronia’s maker. He sighed. “Always the anger. It is my sincere hope that one of these centuries, you will finally believe that not everyone is against you.” He looked squarely from Louis to me, then back to his fledgling. “You will have to forgive her, gentlemen. She feels . . . a bit protective of this place.”

When no one moved or responded, he continued, this time addressing Petronia. “I truly do not believe these have come to challenge us.”

“They spoke of that boy,” she protested.

Arion looked at me, his thoughts forcing their way past my mental shields. _It would have been better if you had not mentioned him. Not all fledglings are as beloved as you are. She would have left him without any instruction, but I would not have it. Theirs is not a benign relationship._

Both Louis and I had fixed our expressions and did not react, though I was struck with the realization that here were yet another two examples of fledgling/master relationships that seemed to reinforce Lestat’s argument for not being the one who turned poor Tristan. Did he imagine that he would treat Tristan as Petronia had treated poor Quinn, who was surely even more innocent?

Or did he imagine being saddled with a hard-to-control fledgling, full of rage? Once again, thoughts of my own fledgling pushed to the surface accusingly, and I swallowed to wrestle them back into their place. Louis had pondered the “enigma” Lestat had thrown in my face, but I simply could not confront my personal demons at this point.

I realized that Louis was responding with carefully constructed thought: _Not all beloved fledglings have entirely benign relationships. Nevertheless, it was not meant as an affront._ Louis looked at me pointedly, and I nodded at Arion and at Petronia, who had sidled closer to her maker.

“Yes. Again, I assure you that no offense was intended, and I do heartily apologize if I somehow inadvertently overstepped proper boundaries,” I said aloud. “We would very much appreciate your leave to explore this place in peace.”

Arion now turned his attention to his fledgling. She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “As you will.” She paused, looking at Arion. “Since Arion has no issue with your presence.”

“I do not,” he assented, then inclined his head to both of us. “Be at peace here, gentlemen. We will take our leave.” At that, they were gone.

When they had effected their leave, Louis turned to me, his countenance impassive as usual, but his voice contained an edge. “’Feel free to roam, I’ll be there momentarily’? What were you doing all the way over here? And what on earth did you do to rile her like that?” _As if we don’t have enough agitation in our lives right now_ , he added mentally.

I gave a slight smile. “Forgive me, brother. I honestly did nothing to rile her. I . . . ah . . . I was led here by the spirit of a girl. I think she was looking for cameos. She became terrified when I spoke Petronia’s name. I alerted you, and immediately Petronia came through the door.” I paused, suddenly feeling incredibly foolish. “That truly was all there was to it.”

He said nothing, which was actually worse than if he had verbally or mentally chastised me. I at once felt as if he were staggering under the weight of creation in its entirety. I came to him and folded him in an embrace, which he returned, thankfully. I kissed his hair and murmured in his ear, “I solemnly promise to behave myself, Louis. No instigation of vampire tussles from me.” I sighed then, as I realized that I would like nothing better than to rip someone’s head off, in spite of my protests that I had not provoked Petronia.

The rest of the evening was spent investigating what is referred to as Regions IV and V, from the Vesuvius Gate to (ironically) the Nola Gate, half of which has not been fully excavated. I found it a bit more bearable, as there were fewer wandering spirits in this part of the city. I did not espy my ghostly beauty for the remainder of the evening. Although a part of me would have liked to have caught up with her again, I had no idea how Louis would have reacted. Perhaps he would have been well and exasperated with me, as I may have deserved.  

We perused the graffiti on the walls of one of the gladiator barracks, the painting of and poetry about the daughter who breastfed her starving father in the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto, the murals of lavish parties in the House of the Triclinium, and the friezes of the great earthquake of 62 A.D. in the House of Lucius Caecilius Jucundus. We ended the evening at the Central Baths, which was not nearly as lasciviously decorative as either the Stabian Baths or the Forum Baths. As I had been told, phalluses were in abundant supply throughout the city, which amused me for some reason.

***********

When I woke the next evening, Louis was still at rest, his head on my shoulder tucked under my chin, with one arm over my chest. I sighed and closed my eyes again, lazily caressing his silky dark hair. Although we did not make love (I think we were simply too emotionally drained for such a thing to cross our minds), we held each other affectionately, taking comfort from the closeness and commiseration of each other’s personal misery in the situation.

I was pondering this, when it suddenly occurred to me that the hair between my fingers was quite short, not the usual shoulder-length. Feeling him stir from the death sleep, I murmured, “Darling, when did you cut your hair?”

“David, you know very well when I cut my hair,” came the sleepy reply. “When I broke my arm.”

I frowned, fingering the feathery soft, dark hair. “You broke your arm?

When did this occur?”

There was a low rumble of soft laughter. “My arm was broken when we met, my love. How could you forget?”

Louis has a very expressive smile when he is amused, but he is not given to laughter at the best of times; and these were most decidedly **not** the best of times. My frown deepened as I pondered what he could mean by his arm being broken. He shifted slightly, then I felt a deep bite over my collar bone and a firm hand around my member. I gasped involuntarily, as such intimacy was unexpected. I clutched at the short hair. “Wh-what . . . are you doing?” At this, I pulled his head from my shoulder to look into . . . not Louis’ green eyes, but . . . “Enigma!” I called out and awoke with a start.

I sat up abruptly, gasping, to see Louis on his stomach, raising his head from his pillow, which he cradled in his arms. “David . . . are you all right?” He rolled to his side to face me, raising up on one arm. I blinked, trying to catch breath that I didn’t technically need.  

I was suddenly slick with blood sweat, and he reached to smooth my hair from my forehead. “What’s wrong?” He looked at me intently, concern etching his features. I mentally conveyed my dream before I thought better of it, so shaken was I. The concern shifted to surprise. “A fledgling? You have a fledgling?”  

I squeezed my eyes shut and lay back on the bed, still panting, unable to speak. I felt as if my soul were ripping in twain. Louis sat and stared at me for a moment, then murmured, “Lestat knows.” I nodded, suddenly feeling as though if I were to start weeping, I would never stop. I pressed the balls of my hands hard into my eyes, willing myself to wrestle the pain back into its dungeon. _That’s what he was referring to the other night at the villa . . . your ‘Enigma.’_

 _Please, Louis!_ I thought back at him, _I cannot . . . not right now._ I was being rolled under a sea of emotions. He was immediately apologetic, both with thoughts and verbally, almost stumbling over his words in embarrassment and chagrin. He moved slightly away from me, unsure whether I would prefer to be left alone entirely. I shook my head jerkily. “No!” I gasped. “Just . . . give me a moment.”  

I made myself concentrate on the here and now. We were in Italy, in Pompeii. Lestat was coercing Daniel to turn poor Tristan into a vampire. Louis was drowning in his own misery. Enigma was nowhere around. Oh, but it had been so real! Holding him in my arms, feeling his bite! I swallowed, then took a deep breath. Not real. And as my fledgling, it was not possible for him to invade my mind. Not real. A dream. Just a dream. A very vivid dream, brought on by the stressful circumstances and having to ponder the making of fledglings. This is what I told myself, reminding myself of the plethora of phallic symbols and sexual depictions I had seen the night before, which of course would bring thoughts and dreams of my former lover.  

I swallowed hard, and took my hands from my eyes, forcing myself to sit up and meet Louis’ sympathetic gaze. I drew my knees to my chest and tried to smile apologetically. “I . . . I confess, I am somewhat surprised that Lestat never told you,” I finally murmured. _Gratified, even_ , I thought. “I kept him secret to keep him safe, love,” I said by way of explanation, which sounded rather lame. “Not from you,” I quickly added. “Most specifically, from the Talamasca. I . . . ,” I took

a deep breath. “I made him as strong as I could make him. Against his will. I wanted it . . . ,” I paused again, my thoughts returning to the fateful night I had forever sealed his fate to darkness. “I wanted it to be difficult for him to destroy himself,” I finished with a tight, rueful smile. “Much like Lestat made me strong for the same reason . . . against my will.”  

I stared at Louis intently, to see if I detected disapproval. When he gave no sign of any emotion outside of wonder and surprise, I continued. “But I also was afraid for him. Afraid of Lestat. Afraid of the Talamasca. Afraid of Armand, Marius, any of the stronger, older ones.” I paused again, frowning as I forced myself to talk about it. “When Lestat found out, he did threaten to destroy him, my Enigma, as he calls himself. I informed him unequivocally that if he harmed my son, he would never see me again.” I gave another small quirk of my lips. “I supposed he believed me, for he ceased his threats. Indeed, eventually he even joined us for threesomes now and again.” I sighed and let the tight smile fall. “I feel certain he is still around. He still has family alive – a son and a daughter, siblings, even an elderly mother.” I paused again. “I can’t imagine that he would destroy himself as long as his family is alive.”

           Although he did not verbalize them, Louis’ thoughts were asking the one question I could not bring myself to answer. I sighed. “It . . . is a long story.” I rested my chin on my knees. “Suffice it to say that I was foolish to think that I possessed the ability to maintain any sort of long-term romantic relationship.” My eyes met Louis’ with an outpouring of both sympathy and self-loathing. “At least I knew myself well enough not to ask him to marry me. Perhaps binding him to myself in blood is as committed as I can ever be. And I don’t intend to make another fledgling any time in the foreseeable future.”  


	40. Encountering the Ancient ~ Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More surprises in Pompeii, particularly for David.

David

Encountering the Ancient ~ Part Two

Louis and I had dressed and fed discretely before returning to the ruins of Pompeii for the second evening. To keep up appearances, we had ordered cappuccinos at a coffee shop near the hotel and made small talk regarding what we had seen the night before, as if we had spent the day sight-seeing. We spoke of our intentions for the evening as if we were planning for the next day. Purloined guide book in hand, we agreed that we would investigate Region II, which included the Amphitheatre, then make our way up the Via Dell

‘Abbondanza, visiting the Praedia of Julia Felix and the Houses of Marine Venus and Octavius Quartio. Without overtly stating so, I conveyed my hope that the crowds of spirits would be less in that part of the city, as they were in Regions IV and V. Louis had bestowed upon me a small smile over the rim of his cup at that, and I knew exactly why Lestat and then Armand, and now countless mortals had fallen in love with him. That small, knowing smile was damned sexy. What made it more so was that he had no intention of exuding such sex appeal: He was simply being Louis.

           “Chèr,” he spoke quietly as he replaced the cup on the table, “while we are here, it would be a shame for us not to see the western, fully excavated part of the town.” He looked at me a bit pointedly, but his tone was gentle. “Do you think somehow you could ignore the distractions so that we could accomplish this?” _But if you cannot, then I will not leave you_ , he added mentally, for I had been almost clinging to his side since my troubled awakening from the disturbing dream.

           I returned his small smile a bit abashedly. “I’m certain I can manage my Attention Deficit Disorder in order to accomplish this, yes. Besides, I would truly be remiss not to pay a visit to the famous Lupanar of Pompeii, wouldn’t I? Surely that would help me focus.” Louis’ mouth quirked in the first true sign of mirth I had observed since I had arrived in Italy.

          

What we did not discuss was Enigma. Or Lestat. It was as if both of us were walking a tightrope over our personal bottomless vats of pain. If we didn’t look down, we wouldn’t fall. Yet, it was not as if either of us felt it awkward or somehow imperative not to encroach upon each other’s source of rawness. No, it was a strangely easy camaraderie of avoidance. Louis had told me I could speak of Enigma if I wished or I could never speak of him again if I preferred, that he did not hold me or my secrecy in judgment. Although it was a relief to have Louis know of my best-kept secret, I simply still did not desire to visit all the emotions wrapped up in my only fledgling.  

So also, what was there to say about Lestat? The more either of us thought of him, the more enraged we became. Yet, both of us were of the temperament that we simply never considered giving true vent to such anger. I suppose if we had, the entirety of vampiredom would have come to relieve us of our immortality, for I was certain that I alone could have caused such havoc, the world-wide media would broadcast proof positive of our power and existence. If both of us, as modern American society would urge us, were to give vent to the rage that we were keeping under such tight reins, the explosion of Vesuvius and the subsequent destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum would pale in comparison. I was far more infuriated than I was hurt by Lestat. However, my anger was exacerbated by the depth of Louis’ pain. Add my dismay at Tristan’s pathetic state to the mix, and I was probably more volatile toward my maker than I have been since the night he turned me. Undoubtedly, it was providential that Lestat was away.

“Then shall we depart?” Louis asked quietly, his emerald eyes looking at me intently. I had picked up my cup to inhale the rich aroma, and I carefully lowered it again. Although he did not even project the thought, I knew that he could not contemplate the tangle of his current emotions toward Lestat any more than I was capable of meditating upon my Enigma, the implication being that he would prefer that I not muse upon it at this juncture, either. After all, nothing positive would come of such an exercise.

I smiled slightly and rose with him. “Yes, of course, my brother.” I took care of the tab and met him outside. After ascertaining that we were not being observed, I murmured, “Shall we?” He nodded almost imperceptibly and we disappeared from the spot, traveling at vampiric speed to the excavation site, easily bypassing the barriers that keep mortals from roaming after dark.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly—a habit left over from my mortal days—as I gazed back and forth at the throng of spirits. Louis studied me. _Will you be all right, mon_ _frère?_ I smiled and nodded, gesturing for him to take the lead. Guidebook in hand, we whipped through the crowd to start our night’s expedition at the Amphitheater.  

As we stood at the upper rim of the impressive (given the population) structure, I was surprised to find it filled almost to capacity with the departed. Unlike the restless continuous movement of the previous spirits, these obviously had no concern regarding any bothersome volcanic activity. Instead, they were entirely focused on the gladiatorial games, of which there were so many being fought over and through one another, it was impossible to discern who was watching and cheering on whom. The Amphitheater floor was a veritable melee of spirits who were replaying their deaths and their victories again and again.

“Hmmm. It says here the non-concrete portions are where the seats which were originally wooden had not yet been replaced by the stonework of the rest of the structure,” Louis commented, totally oblivious of the riot teeming all around us. He turned a page. “As small as Pompeii is, the Roman Coliseum is only slightly twice the size,” he read.

“Do tell,” I murmured, fascinated by the violence before me much like most people are fascinated by morbid car crashes.

“Yes, the gladiator games were quite the entertainment,” stated a voice with disgust. I looked around to see Petronia standing a mere ten yards away, arms folded over her flowing black caftan.  

Louis glanced up politely. “Perhaps you would care to relate your experiences, madam? I’m certain that you can provide detail that no modern account can equal.” Petronia spared him a snort of her delicate nostrils in response. He shrugged and looked back at the guidebook. As she didn’t appear to be any more combative than she was talkative, I turned my attention back to the arena. “It also says that only one out of every six gladiators met their death in the arena. Most of the losers were ‘ _missus_ ’: reprieved, that is, and lived to fight another day,” Louis continued. I gave him a sideways glance, wondering if he were intending to provoke Petronia in spite of his admonition to me the previous evening. Again, she gave a derisive snort, but did not otherwise respond.

“Mm,” I murmured by way of acknowledgment, again turning my attention to the ethereal beings below us.

“Well, shall we continue, brother?” Louis asked.

I turned to follow him, and Petronia spoke. “Why are you really here?” Both of us shifted to face her. “Surely this is not a coincidence.” Louis and I glanced at each other, then back at the fierce vampire before us, awaiting further explanation. She unfolded her arms and stepped closer to us.  

I tilted my head as I studied her, then opened my mind, projecting my thought to her as well as Louis. _Feel free to search my thoughts. I have nothing to hide._ Louis lifted his eyebrows, clearly surprised and wary that I would willingly open my mind to another immortal’s intrusion, but Petronia whipped around and stared hard at me. I could feel her prying, mentally searching for the seams in the walls she was certain were in place in spite of my invitation. I resisted the temptation to smile, instead meeting her intent glare with calm impassivity.

“So . . . Lestat has a little mortal lover,” she murmured maliciously as she deftly plucked the image of Tristan from my mind. Although I was certain Louis moved not a muscle, I could sense him bristle. Or perhaps it was simply my own assumption of his reaction to her words. She paused a moment, then withdrew from my mind, eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you kill him?”

I shrugged, my eyes holding hers. “Didn’t you see?”

          

She turned to Louis, whose mind was shut as tightly as any tomb, and whose expression was icy marble. “Why would you want this mortal to live?” she demanded. He said not a word, thinking, I was sure, of how he should reply. I loathed putting him in this situation. Yet, I felt if I could entice Petronia to spend her considerable malevolence on our behalf, then I could resolve the situation with Tristan without incurring Lestat’s wrath. Let Lestat then take out his frustration on Petronia, and it would be possible that the world could be rid of her, as well. Quinn would probably thank me. It seemed a great solution all around.

Suddenly, she took a step back, looking from Louis to me. “Oh, I see. No. Go play your little games.” She gave us a look of utter disgust. “I will do nothing to help you.”

           Although my face was composed to display as much impassivity as I could (truly, I took my lead from my brother, who had mastered it), I was a bit surprised and confused as to how Petronia had discovered my plan. I flicked my eyes at Louis, who simply looked exhausted to his core. I realized that he must have revealed it to her, and I sighed. Petronia disappeared without another word, and Louis remained silent. I was both contrite and disappointed. At last I made to speak, “My brother . . . .”

           “No, David,” he interrupted. Although his tone was infused with anger and impatience, his countenance was a mask of melancholy and fatigue. His iridescent eyes bored into mine. “Why would you try to provoke her into killing the boy for you? Forget the fact that I made **my** desire clear to you. Lestat unmistakably wants him. How would you have felt if Lestat had killed your Enigma? Did you not threaten to leave him forever if he did such a thing? So how can you now propose to do the same to this one whom Lestat has chosen?” His voice was resonant with quiet rage. “And all that aside, what were you thinking to reveal such things to her _?” Who are you to air our laundry to an outsider?   Particularly one as volatile as she. You recklessly put us both in danger,_ came the furious thoughts _. If anything, this is **family** business. Quinn may be considered a part of our coven, but **she** is not. _

Then came additional anger and disappointment that I would have considered having Lestat fight her; and I was reminded that in spite of everything, in spite of his intense pain and resentment at our maker, Louis was still fiercely protective of him.

I bowed my head and said nothing. His words had hit their mark. It was all I could manage to convey my deep apology and contrition before I wrapped my thoughts in protective layers of steel bands. I set my jaw to keep from weeping as the pain bled out of the wound he had just reopened and reamed.   We stood there for some time before he let out a deep sigh and then turned away.

I followed him through our planned route, and when we had arrived back at the forum with its horde of spirits, he looked at me to see if I were up to investigating this Region. I pursed my lips. “After you,” I murmured and gestured in the direction between the Herculaneum and Vesuvius Gates. 

“Are you sure?” He examined my face and tried to touch my thoughts.

Still wearing my tight smile, I replied, “While we are here, I am sure that I want to see the rest of the city, Louis.” He inclined his head slightly and turned into the crowd of busy spirits. I forced myself to walk beside him and ignore the invisible hubbub.

After stopping to see several sites in Region VII, including the infamous Lupanar, and exploring most of Region VI, ending up at the House of the Vestals, I had not caught sight of the ethereal beauty of the previous evening. As we stood outside of the Herculaneum Gate, Louis stated decisively, “I intend to return to

Paris tomorrow night. Then I will fly back to New Orleans. I have had my fill of

Italy, perhaps for the next century.” He paused. “What of you?”

I nodded. “Yes, I shall stop by Talbot Manor to retrieve Charles, then I suppose I will see you back in New Orleans,” I answered, unable to meet his gaze. When he said nothing for several minutes, I ventured to lift my eyes to his face. Louis’ expression was so odd, that I frowned and pressed him, “Are you all right, my brother?”

He formed a deliberate smile. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.” At that moment, though the thoughts were not fully formed and certainly not projected toward me, I knew that he intended to take his leave of Lestat shortly after returning to New Orleans. Although a part of him was suffering because of that decision, yet to remain would mean greater suffering. My beloved, infinitely patient, ever-constant brother had finally reached the end of his tether.

I took him in a crushing embrace and kissed his hair, then murmured in his ear, “I love you, Louis. Truly. Forgive me for the wounds I have inadvertently inflicted upon you this evening. Do what you must. Just know that I love you.” Although he returned my embrace firmly, he made no reply.

  


	41. Ile St. Louis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis leaves Pompeii and takes himself to Paris. He and Lestat are not aware how close they came to one another in their side travels, but they need time apart even if it's not easy.

Louis

Ile St. Louis

I had my back to the door of the large house on the _Île Saint-Louis_ , key held loosely in my hand. A silvery swath of cold rain swept across the river and from my left came the hiss of tires on wet pavement as a lone car came over the _Pont de Sully_ and went round the park at the end of the little island. After a moment I realized I’d let myself fall into the sort of reverie that still overtakes me when the beauty of the night captures my senses. I blinked the rainwater out of my widened eyes and turned to the door. The key, retrieved from behind a loosened stone on the wall at the corner of the property fitted the lock but the tumblers turned only grudgingly, sluggish with disuse.

Closing the door on the rain, I slid my phone from the inner pocket of my jacket and absently shed my wet clothes, stepping out of them where I stood. Rainwater dripped from my hair, spotting the uneven slate floor. There was a lamp burning in the front room and the air was dry and warm; I smiled a little. This was Brian’s work, seeing to it that the house was ready and welcoming. I don’t know how he managed these things, but I was grateful for it. I may be impervious to chilled air but that does not mean that I am fond of it.

It is an elegant old house and I realized upon entering the front room that it was possible to have missed a place even when one has not seen it in some time. I’d bought this house some sixty-odd years earlier and stayed here for a time. Most of the furnishings I’d chosen back then still remained in place, and though that was no surprise it was still somehow comforting. The home was occupied for many years by a dear friend, recently passed away – her touches were all about the house; I knew the lingering scent of her perfume, faint but still present in the furniture. Chanel No. 5; women of her era preferred it over all scents, or so she told me more than once.

I had visited Paris with Lestat, of course, but this was a not a place he had seen; it was not haunted with his laughter, not dimmed because he was not upstairs humming in his tuneful way. He’d been to this little island before; he’d written of it and I had seen the house where so long ago his Nicolas had lived for a time and where he had turned Gabrielle from mother to the beautiful, remote creature she was now. I knew where it was, over on the _Quai de Bourbon_ looking toward the _Île de la Cité_. Years ago I’d gone to lie on the roof where once Lestat had listened with a breaking heart to Nicki playing his violin.

I made my way upstairs to the second floor with its large, generous bedrooms and the salon, beautiful with high arched windows and a lovely old Steinway on the plush Aubusson rug. An armoire in one of the guest bedrooms held blankets and pillows and on the upper shelf, a soft white robe; I slipped into it and belted it closed, dropping the phone into the deep pocket.

There was a small inner room in the garret on the top floor and I planned to sleep there, locked from the world and the coming morning—this morning I would welcome the forgetfulness of the death sleep, some small surcease from the anger that seethed and roiled in me, seeking escape. I’d thought I had it in hand, that fury, but he had to bring it up. Daniel has agreed, Lestat told me and I wondered why he would say such a thing to me. To discuss it further with him? To tell him how pleased I was that things had gone his way—after all, I’ve had a couple of nights to think it over, so certainly I have come to accept it all. Oh, and by the way, yeah, I love you best, Louis. Selfish, vain creature, I thought spitefully. As quickly as it had come upon me, the anger drained away, replacing itself with the familiar feeling of being hollowed out, an empty shell washed up on a deserted beach.

Added to these musings was David’s inexplicable behavior with Petronia. It had been difficult enough for me to step in and prevent him from destroying Tristan at that little tavern; part of me had wanted him to go right ahead and do it, at least before I thought it through and realized that such a thing was not our prerogative and he of all people should have been able to realize that.  

That he’d brought it up again with Petronia, a vampire we had little knowledge of and to even _think_ to encourage the idea that Lestat might step in an angered state to destroy her; I could not begin to fathom what he had been thinking. I appreciated that he was concerned for me and that he was angry with Lestat on my behalf yet it was wrong-headed and most unlike him to encourage that sort of violence against someone who’d done nothing to him. Petronia had a Maker who cared for her—the idea of Lestat facing both of them because of David’s anger was unconscionable to me and it should have been to him. I am not in the habit of policing interfering with the decisions other make but when they affect me I will certainly step in when I think it’s necessary; in spite of everything, I would think by this time that it is clear I will not stand by to let harm come to Lestat no matter what injuries he may inflict on my heart.

I fetched a sigh, thinking that perhaps David’s distress over the situation at hand and the parallels to his own fledgling’s manner of coming into being had brought out his buried guilt and pain and addled his wits. I’d let my temper get away from me and said some hurtful things to him yet I could not regret it entirely for at the very least the things I’d said might give him pause if he decided once again in the little time there seemed to be left, to push the issue further by killing Tristan when I was not there to prevent it. God only knew what Lestat would do if he found out about it.

I could not be angry with David at this point and even the disappointment I’d felt toward him for what had at the time seemed a betrayal of my trust was fading; stress brings out sides of us that we would often prefer to keep hidden and certainly I was no paragon when it came down to it; my own behavior of late had been anything but well-reasoned.

Outside, I heard the rain lashing the windowpanes as another fierce gust came across the river and I crossed to the high window overlooking the tree-lined _Quai de Béthune_. The trees were bare and the lights of Paris filled the window; filtered through the rain, I might have been looking at an impressionist painting. I sat down in one of the chairs that looked out across the river and thought about the decision I’d come to.

This one, at least, had been given a great deal of thought and even now I questioned myself—could I really separate myself from Lestat? ‘Staggering dependence’ was how he’d once described it and it was the simple truth. My dependence on him _is_ staggering—how could anyone wish to bear the weight of such a thing? Was it his fault that he was my weakness? I tried to separate my anger and the hurt I felt at his betrayal from the knowledge that it was likely that very dependence drove him to such things, at least in part.

It occurred to me then that there was no ‘we’ now, no delirious nights held in Lestat’s arms in the foreseeable future, no vigorous debate upon a subject that had caught his fancy or mine, no quiet contemplation of the ridged blue veins on the tops of his elegant hands clasped in mine. I had tried to pinpoint the moment that things had changed, prompting him to take this road that had led so very far away from me, but there didn’t seem to be an answer. I had only just begun to manage to move along with my existence without his absence being acutely felt when he’d called me to Italy and now I sat here in Paris with that absence a throbbing ache in my chest.

I am tired, I thought, and resentful that he’s reawakened the pain and made it feel like a fresh grief. That life was not gone; it just needed me to slip back into that skin to resume it once again.

I felt my phone vibrate and took it out. It was Brian, calling to see that I had made it to the house and did I need anything? I wondered if he felt some echo of my thoughts even as far away as he was.

“No, _cher_. What could I need?”

“A coat, for one thing. Raining and cold in Paris, or so says the internet. I ordered an overcoat for you and had Patrice drop it off —it’s in the downstairs closet by the kitchen . Gloves and a hat and a few changes of clothes if you need them, too.”

“The internet is correct and I thank you for your foresight,” I said, thinking of the sodden pile of clothes just inside the front door. “Are you at home?”

“Yes, just back from dinner with Perry. She sends her regards, by the way and says there are heaps of paperwork that need your attention. ”

“She always says that.” Hearing his matter-of-fact voice speaking so normally to me cracked some of the ice I felt around my heart; it was not unwelcome. “Where did you eat?”

“Perino’s over in Harvey; I had the shrimp boil,” he said with a rueful chuckle. “My mouth is still burning.”

“That doesn’t sound like a complaint, somehow.”

“It’s not. Will you be coming home soon?”

“Possibly tomorrow night. I had planned on staying here for a while, but I’ve changed my mind.” I had, because in that moment I realized I missed the life I’d been living once I’d allowed myself to understand Lestat wasn’t coming back anytime soon the last time around.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said warmly. “I’ll have the jet on standby.” He hesitated for a beat. “You okay?”

“Better than you’d think,” I said, surprised that I meant it. “I will see you soon,Brian. Good night.”


	42. A Committed Appraisal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel heads to Italy to examine his quarry.

Daniel

Committed Appraisal

Several nights later after I had concluded my stateside business I was in Italy and more than a little grateful that wherever Armand might be, he wasn't in my head.

I called Lestat in the meantime, first with the hope that he might say he'd changed his mind and didn't want Tristan to be turned at all. It was foolish to think that he might admit he'd been hasty toward such a decision, but I'd seen a few instances of regret after I'd taken care of a problem situation and this was a lot more intrusive and eternal than simply eliminating a debtor or cheating spouse. He confirmed his wishes but stopped me when I began to give details of why or where the deed would go down.

"I don't need to hear the specifics, Daniel." He said with soft irritation. "So long as it is done, whether you choose to remain with him or not is up to you."

"It's hard to say but since I agreed to do it at all, it's all I've thought about. All I know is that I'll be keeping him as far away from Armand as possible."

"Sounds logical."

He was distracted by something other than the upcoming turn of events, to pun a phrase. "I may well stay with him beyond the first nights. You're the one who so keenly pointed out that I didn't give Lucas all I could have given him.

Lestat, are you still there?"

"I'm here. You know he's nothing like Lucas. Well, maybe he is… I don't know."

"What you should know, what I'm betting is that once this is all over, he's going to want to see you in person. Are you ready for that meeting?"

At that he laughed almost bitterly. "No, Daniel, I'm not ready for that, though I'm certain it's going to happen as you predict. There's really nothing I can do but face it when it occurs." He paused for a long moment. "Maybe there is something I can do to make it easier for each of us. Of course he's going to want to see me… so why don't you bring him to see me in New Orleans after the first week? I'll be home by then and we can all have a get together at our famed house on Royal

Street. Doesn't that sound appealing?"

"To New Orleans?" I scoffed. "You really are something."

"We might as well get the meeting out of the way, and I won't lie and say I'm not wickedly intrigued to see him in immortal flesh."

"Then maybe you should just do it yourself. It's not too late for that you know."

"Don't start with me Daniel. I told you I have my reasons, but whatever." There was that famously dismissive tone wrapped in modern disregard. "He'll be your own then, so bring him for a visit or take him far away and teach him this life to your standards. You will love him, most certainly - it is impossible not to lose yourself within all that Tristan embodies."

"I'll make a note of that." I said flatly. "I'll think about taking him to New

Orleans but who is in residence there aside from you? Louis?"

"Louis, yes, and David is there as well though staying at his own home. You needn't worry about those details. If I know you're coming I'll have a nearby house prepared for the two of you. You'll have no fear of harm in that city, though

you'd do well to stay with Tristan when he takes to the streets to hunt." His voice broke off with that distraction I'd sensed before.

"I can hardly imagine him doing it." He said. I couldn't tell whether his words held more astonishment or regret, but I supposed it was a moot point.

"But do it he will, Lestat. There's no turning back. I simply wanted to touch base with you and make sure this is what you want. I've already located him and anticipate meeting with him face to face tomorrow night. I'll give him time to say goodbye to his mortal companions, and then I'm taking him out of Italy the next night. I'm not going to linger and let him suffer so now is the time to say so if you have any doubts."

"There is no room for doubt, Daniel. It's what must be done at this point. The alternative is unacceptable and more than ever, I'm certain you are the right one for the task."

"I'm still not sure about that, but I have reasons just like you do for my agreement."

***

We concluded the call and I looked out over the moonlit sea. I could almost feel my own maker and tormentor standing behind me, his delicate hands wrapped around my waist as he commented on the lustrous beauty of the night. Not for the first time I asked myself what I could be, what I could give to another as an immortal that wasn't given to me. In a second I could summon all the pain of the past if I closed my eyes: Those blackened days when I shuffled along the streets wishing for him, wanting the rapture of his kiss even if it meant death. Hell, in that time, I would have preferred death.

Even after reconciliation of my immortality, there were still times I thought it might have been the better choice. I did not want to remember, but there welled within me the heated desperate longing in that instant before I surrendered to eternity. Tristan was filled with this emotion far more than any justifiable rage he may have felt for Lestat. So strong were the boy's emotions that upon my arrival, I had honed in on his location quite easily.

Quickly I discerned his volatility: When he thought of Lestat there was sadness and confusion mixed with lustful recollection and that lust then fueled a hunger he did not understand. He was intoxicated from the liberal amount of alcohol he'd consumed to try and kill off the dancing images in his head - and how well I understood such behavior! I also knew that in his situation it would never work. I used to pass out, sometimes for a couple nights in a row - but when I woke up Armand seemed to be waiting for me in some back mental hallway. After my last round of heaving up whatever remained in my stomach, he'd come out and shake his head gently: In the same way, Tristan wouldn't escape Lestat. Amid all his emotions there was another, more recent influence - and that was fear. While he didn't necessarily understand or maybe believe the reasons for the turbulence inside of him, he already gave off the scent of death. I detected his fading mortality as I followed him in my mind, and then somehow his own vague knowledge of this came off of him in slow circles: Someone other than Lestat had brought him to the realization that his very life was endangered.

I had watched him meander through the back streets and tried without success to see from behind his eyes. It wasn't that he was guarding his thoughts for while he may have some sliver of immortal powers simply from ingesting so much of Lestat's blood, he was not yet so clever as to hide from us should we wish to pry. Simply, the alcoholic haze blurred his mind so much it was the equivalent of sliding on ice when I attempted the feat. Still, I picked up images and among them, there was Louis, as clear and stunning as I'd ever seen him in person. Louis in the vision was leaned over as if speaking to another past someone's shoulder. I heard conversations from a dimly lit, crowded bar. To see Louis' eyes in that moment pulled me back to our first meeting, the one that had rted everything in motion, but there was no time for that now. Those eyes flashed with cautious warning and for a brief second, something unnamable between fear and resignation. It moved too quickly for me to dissect, and then another confusing flash, more a perception of ferocious intellect mixed with immortal anger and when the face came to me it took me more than a few minutes to understand that it was David Talbot and he was traveling with Louis.

I saw David's hand on Tristan's face; felt it as though it were on my own, and beyond that, felt David's intention. He had gone into the place with the idea of putting the kid out of his misery. Once David and Louis had left him, Tristan may well have agreed if anyone had asked him, but again, that was something I understood all too well. That night, he had allowed himself to be led away by a rather plain looking girl who was almost as drunk. Sex had been foremost on their minds when she helped the stumbling handsome boy into her apartment, but in the end his misery and the alcohol led him to a place where only a welcome darkness existed. She could have had sex with someone else right beside him and he never would have known. Maybe even that was something I understood, and with that amusing thought, I left off on observing him. Once his mental screen went black, there was no point.

Since my arrival in Italy, since seeing that initial reading of young Tristan's mind, I had scanned for Louis and David. I had no desire to meet up with them or engage in detailed conversation about the how or why of what I would do with Lestat's most recent cast off. I simply wanted to know where they were keeping themselves in relation to the boy. I could only detect a faint read on Louis well to the South in of all places, Pompeii, not so far away from the Villa of the Mysteries where they might have already explored just for the sake of keeping it real as the saying goes. Hey, why not? Well I for one would not be revisiting any of the old familiar places for the sake of nostalgia or any other reason - the hell with that nonsense. I was here on a mission only, and tomorrow night it would begin.


	43. Dangerous Discourse ~ Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Initial conversation between Daniel and Tristan.

Daniel

Dangerous Discourse ~ Part One

The next night I awoke to torrential wind and rain. I waited it out in the lobby of one of the more modest hotels in Rome. I wasn't going to be there for long, so the typical vampire splurging wasn't necessary though over-the-top wasn't my style in the first place.

When at last the storm broke, I wasted no time locating my quarry. He was alone in some sort of courtyard, a place that had once been a palatial home it seemed, but was now a museum. It was difficult to tell and not for the first time I cursed how weak my immortal gifts seemed to be at times. Still, I gathered the general location and within a short time touched down on the roof of the building. I could have waited there and observed his behavior once again, but there was really nothing to see. He was slouched down against one of the columns, soundlessly fighting the hunger within.

I had no intention of playing games with him. I wasn't Lestat, and I damn sure wasn't Armand. He'd been through enough between all the immortals he'd encountered and the undeniable new pulse he found both fascinating and repulsive. I leapt down to the scrabbled ground about a hundred yards from where he sat and waited for him to look up. When he did, the unmistakable fire in his eyes was enough to pull at my heart. My God but he was beautiful, even in his unkempt drunkenness, and that light, that punished, sacrificial light in his eyes was enough to render any mortal speechless. He might have been able to hunt even now had he the thought to do so, but then again he didn't have quite the right eh, tools to see the job through, I supposed.

"Who are you?" He asked in a relative growl. "Go away. No one's supposed to be here."

"Then why are you here?" I asked with amusement at his contradictory defiance. No wonder Lestat loved him.

"To be alone, so piss off whoever you are." He cocked his head and started to get up, I figured to confront me more directly. As soon as he righted himself, he studied me more closely and as he came to understand I was 'one of them', he backed away slowly.

"You have nothing to fear from me, Tristan. I understand you do not know who I am, but surely as familiar as you are with Lestat's world, you will know my name. I am Daniel Molloy." His eyes narrowed, more at the mention of his lover's name instead of my own. "I mean you no harm, but there are very serious matters we need to discuss, and we have little time. You have been through far too much in so little time and I know how you're feeling better than anyone else could." I thought it better to leave out that this fact was the reason Lestat had selected me to… well shit, how do you tell someone you've been appointed to make them a vampire anyhow?

"I don't care who you are. Just leave me alone." He turned away but I made no effort to follow him.

"Tristan, hear me out. Just hear me out for a bit here and if you decide I don't know anything about your situation or that I'm a complete idiot aside from that, I'll leave you alone." I asked myself immediately whether I'd do that or end his misery, but I left that unspoken as well. He spun on his heel and came closer to me so fast that again I knew he must already have vague immortal ability. What was Lestat thinking giving him so much blood? Oh wait… right. He wasn't.

"You think you have any idea what I'm going through?"

"If you've read my part in the history of this coven, you know that I do."

He said nothing but held my gaze as he mentally thumbed through the pages of all that had been laid to paper about our little band of eclectic degenerates.

"Armand made you immortal." He nodded. "But before he did…"

I let the thought process go before I interjected. "That's enough. Don't think too long on those aspects. The last thing I want is for him to get a whiff of your thoughts and know that I'm here."

His eyes clouded over and the curious expression changed once more to something more sullen. "So why are you here, exactly?"

"Come, let us walk. Relax your mind by telling me about this place. You wouldn't be here at this hour if it did not hold some meaning for you." I smiled and gestured ahead of me for him to walk and as he did, I followed most casually. He began to recount the story of how this place it had been erected in the year

123 A.D. to become the mausoleum of Emperor Hadrian then converted into Papal fortress, Renaissance residence, prison, execution place and ultimately into a museum as I'd suspected. The change in his posture and tone was exactly what I'd hoped for and truly I got the feeling that it was the first time anyone had shown a genuine interest in listening to his words in far too long. By the time we reached the farthest wall, the fire I'd sensed initially was down to a diminutive flicker. It sparked only slightly more when he looked off and added that Hadrian's lover, Antinous was a name he'd adopted for himself when he first began to interact with Lestat. I left him to the reverie until he faced me and spoke.

"Where is he now?"

"Lestat?" I gave a little shrug. "I can't say really. I spoke to him not so long ago and he was in France, revisiting the cities of Auvergne he said."

He nodded and said nothing more on the subject. "So why are you really here?"

I smiled and thought of how to best phrase my answer. "Do you want the blunt version or the more euphemistic approach?"

At that he laughed a little and I was captivated by his smile. The perfection of it, the suddenness of it in the dim amber-lit courtyard was a kind of omen, I felt.

"Please, I've had enough bullshit. Just tell me."

"Very well then." I moved toward a low ledge and gestured for him to come and be seated. "No bullshit. I'm sorry you've had such a hard time of it lately. I understand David and Louis paid you quite an unexpected visit, but we will discuss that and other things later." He sat on the ledge, his knees pulled up against his chest, arms around them. He looked impossibly young, and in the instant before my revelation, my heart grieved for his mortality.

"You've undoubtedly come to understand that Lestat's blood has changed you. You knew it when you were still with him, and once he forced you to leave, your anger brought those changes to the forefront. Because you were no longer getting the blood from him, you satisfied the craving for it with sex and alcohol.

Am I right so far?"

"Quite, but I thought I was getting the direct version."

"Fair enough." I continued. "You are no longer merely mortal, Tristan. Your affair with Lestat was left to go too far. He - went too far in the amount of blood he gave to you and now, if the transition is not completed, you will descend into madness and if you're lucky, die. I am here to see that does not happen. I am here to bring you over into this life, to give you the Dark Gift or whatever you may choose to call it. If you should decide against it - and mind you it is your choice - then I suppose I can be kind and relieve you of your mortal bonds before the light of sanity begins to fade from your beautiful eyes."

He stood up against the ledge and held it as if he needed something solid in his hands. His mouth hung slightly open and his eyes were widened as the shortest version of the truth I could deliver to him sank in. Several times he made to say something but could not find the words. Finally, he shook his head and the lights betrayed the tears on his face.

"I know it is overwhelming, but you needed to know the plan. I wasn't going to just steal into your room, do it and leave you to your fate. Given the torment I went through when I was tortured by the immortal blood in my veins, it isn't what you deserve."

"What I deserve?" He was suddenly furious, though I suspected more because he had succumbed to tears. "You want to talk about what I deserve? I deserve more than to be sublimely fucked to delirium then tossed out of paradise as if it meant nothing at all. I deserve for that person who professed his love for me to own up to this, to…stick with… Jesus Christ, I mean you're telling me I'm some sort of fucking hybrid creature at this point? What a fucking coward he is! He knew it and then … what?"

"I don't know. I am the last one to even think of speaking for him."

"He fucking knew it - you're telling me… of course he was seeing it then…" He let his eyes wander to a memory. "He refused to let me drink any more, even when I begged. How fucking disgusting, there I was like some pathetic child in his bed, whimpering for more. And now…. you're telling me that you're here to … to take care of this mess? I'm supposed to just what, clap and play along? Did he send you here to do this? He did, didn't he?" I nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Of course he did. Goddamn him. No, I'll damn him in person worse than any God." He sank back against the ledge and fumed in silence.

"You have every right to be enraged. In your shoes, I would be angry enough to kill him, but neither of us could accomplish that even if we wanted to, and there's no time for such anger to intrude. Time is of the essence Tristan. I've watched you, and I've watched the others as they watched you. Right now, you need to decide whether to accept what I've come to offer or accept the end of your life completely. I will not simply walk away and leave you to what will inevitably occur. You already know that if I don't end your mortal life there is someone willing and ready for the job. "

"I have to decide right here and now?" The hatred in his eyes slashed me. "Out of nowhere there's yet another vampire who says hey, I've come to make you one of us and I have to give you my answer right now?"

"Not right this very moment, but you will not leave my side until you give that answer, and it must be by tomorrow night. I won't play games with you Tristan. I might be the only one in our happy family that won't and because of that, I expect you to be direct with me and not waste my time." I tried to deliver that sentence with a smile, but it still sounded crass. "I have given the matter a great deal of thought and perhaps you would do well to refresh yourself on what I endured in your situation. I could show you a more intimate version of the story, but again, that would be your choice. What I know is that either way you decide, it doesn't have to be a drawn out event. We can get on with your immortal initiations, or I can end the pain for you permanently."

"Wait, wait… back up." He cocked his head. "What do you mean you could show me more intimately?" He appeared to be sizing me up anew and I found it suddenly hilarious.

"There are visions that can only be shared from an immortal in one way. You know that already. If you think I meant anything else, you're way off. While you are incredibly appealing in the physical sense, I'm not interested in becoming your next immortal lover. I should think you'd had enough to last for a while in any case." I finished with a laugh and held out a hand to him. "Come now. Let's get out of here and go into the city. I have a suite at one of the hotels prepared to the necessary specifications, and I'm sure you would be far more comfortable with a hot bath and something to eat as you process this whole matter."

He did not take my hand but pushed past me and led us out of the courtyard via a door that no mortal would have seen. I felt a pang of knowledge that yes, time was of the essence. He would surely accept - would anyone outright choose the alternative? Had his torment reached the point where he would rather have mortal death? As I followed behind, I found myself hopeful that he had not hit the point of no return and would in fact, allow me to bring him in and show him what this life could offer. As I realized that feeling within myself, I felt the mortal boy I'd been so very long ago on those cold, dismal streets stir in his drunken slumber and look at me with strange approving knowledge.


	44. Dangerous Discourse ~ Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furthering the conversation. Daniel and Tristan see something they need in one another, quite by surprise.

Daniel

Dangerous Discourse ~ Part Two

 

But Tristan wasn't going to make it that easy for me. As we made our way down the rain soaked alleyway, he stopped short.

"You know, I don't need a goddamned babysitter."

"I don't believe I said anything of the sort." I stood at his side and studied his facial features with unintended intensity. That smooth, tanned skin begged to be touched and I understood, maybe I even saw in some flash of the boy's memories the way he'd looked the first night Lestat had seen him. Ever the sensualist, our fearless leader wouldn't have stood a chance against this sinful child whose full lips seemed to mesmerize me as he spoke.

"You said I wasn't going to be leaving your side. What is that if not babysitting me?" He folded his arms across his chest. "You think you're going to just appear out of nowhere and tell me what I can do or where I can go?"

"What I think is that you should consider things very carefully, Tristan." I reached to collect one of his hands in mine and turned it wrist up. I looked him directly in the eye and brought his pulse to my mouth. I saw him grimace as I sank my teeth into the veins and then I both felt and tasted what I expected: Pain, and a yearning beyond definition. It was wrapped in lust and anger, and it was the sweetest thing I'd tasted in years. I forced myself to draw the least amount into my mouth to avoid the rapture our kind can obtain in only that source.

"Daniel," He spoke my name faintly and in it I could hear the ache of his heart.

I lowered his hand and held it as I shook my head. "You cannot fathom the infection you carry within you now. It is worse than any mortal illness you've ever known. Your friends, they understand this Tristan. You know they see something terribly wrong, and lucky for them they cannot conceive the truth of your numbered days or they would feel a heartbreak as great as the one you carry but cannot express."

He yanked his hand away. "It is not fair that you can read me in that way and I might add, altogether rude."

I couldn't help but to chuckle. "Soon enough, it will be your gift as well and I'm sure I won't hear you complain." I walked backward past him with the confidence that he would follow me to the hotel. "You have to consider your friends Tristan, for either way you must tell them goodbye. I don't mean a casual 'see you around', I mean really tell them that they will never see you again. I know it is a terrible thing to do, but you have no choice at least when it comes to that end of things." He walked toward me and with the taste of him still on my lips I felt the faintest flicker of desire, but would not allow my thoughts to turn in that direction. He'd been through enough for the sake of fulfilling vampire appetites. "Of course, I suppose you could just disappear forever and let them wonder whatever became of you, but that doesn't seem like your style, am I right?"

"I would never just leave them in such a way. I have few close friends, but Sabi and Tullio are more than that to me. You probably already know that though." He sighed and moved along a rocky wall to pause beneath the gnarled and widespread branches of an ancient tree. "How much do you know about me, anyway?

Did Lestat give you a dossier?"

I went to him once more and laughed softly. "No, I did not get an official briefing on your entire history, but for now that doesn't matter. I might enjoy more time to get to know you personally before this happens, but as I've said…" "… there's no time for that now." He finished.

"Right." I said in quiet affirmation. "Tristan, I know this is impossible to wrap your head around. Like I said if you know anything at all about me, about my role in this theater of immortality, you know I understand just where you're at right now. I don't know what's going to happen beyond the moment you come into this life. I don't even know where my head is at right now about that - whether I want to stick around or leave you to discover it all on your own." He started to interrupt but I shook my head and continued. "Bringing another person into all this wasn't even something I considered until Lestat approached me. Hell, most of the time even now I feel like I can barely manage myself, though I do manage to look like I know what I'm doing. But then I thought about it, and I realized he was right in some ways to ask me to be the one and I also realized that deep down, I might not mind having a companion in this life beyond whoever fills my bed for a night or two. I'm not saying we have to be anything to one another or that we will be - for all I know you will hate me once it's done or maybe you hate me now, I

don't know."

"It's not you I hate." He said as he looked off into the dark.

"You don't hate him either. Believe me… I know that too. You have every reason to exact your anger and you'll have that opportunity. In the meantime, come with me and just for tonight try to lay all that aside. Get yourself cleaned up, eat and sleep. Tomorrow you can find your friends and do what you must, and you and I will speak more about the future. How does that sound?"

He rolled his eyes and sighed with resignation as we began to walk again. Soon enough we arrived at the hotel and within the hour, his complaining was replaced with genuine gratitude as I drew him a hot bath. I left him to it and checked my e-mails and such in the sitting area of the suite. Only when I became aware that substantial time had passed did I become a bit concerned that he may have fallen asleep in the tub. Letting him drown would be greatly anti-climactic at this interval, and that thought brought a smile of self-amusement as I went to check on him. Before I knocked on the door I heard him speaking aloud, his voice both ragged with the blood and weak from exhaustion. I spared him the embarrassment of my presence, for I knew his tearful soliloquy was directed at the one who had caused him to be in such a state and then abandoned him. I knew it all too well, but I would not waste one more moment with thoughts of Armand other than - and not for the first time - to think in passing of the look on his face once he came to learn of what had passed and that was enough to make me laugh outright as I sat back down at the desk.

When Tristan emerged from the bathroom wrapped from the waist down in one of the thick hotel towels, I drew in my breath and deliberately looked away.

"I um, I ordered room service for you. I'm afraid it's not much more than reheated pasta and bread but at this hour they were understandably unprepared to deliver a gourmet feast."

"It doesn't matter. I'm not very hungry these days." He said as he sat down on the bed and pulled the tray closer for inspection. Of course he readily poured what remained in the bottle of wine they'd brought.

I watched and insisted that he at least try to eat. The scent of him came to me, clean and warm and beneath that, I could smell his mortal blood intermingled with all the ancient connections Lestat had delivered. As he drank the wine I watched him swallow in slow motion. I pictured the two of them and was lost to the vision: Tristan writhing in passion beneath his lover who delivered such a sacred kiss. They were both so incredibly sensual that only after several minutes did I blink away the images and return to the present where I saw him picking over the plate and mindlessly watching CNN. I had never been intimate with Lestat - the very thought of it terrified me if I was honest - but to have a glimpse of their liaisons left me momentarily breathless.

Tristan turned to me and smiled knowingly.

"How rude of you to spy on my spying." I said with an equally amused look. "Tell me are you able to read the thoughts of others at will? Is this something you could do before?"

"I'm no gypsy trickster," He laughed. "Well at least not when it comes to reading people's minds. It isn't something I could do before, no, though I've always been insightful. This isn't even like reading thoughts completely, it's more a feeling I get along with maybe a picture or two. Given that I'm sitting here almost naked, it's pretty easy to guess you'd be thinking about Lestat fucking me." 

"Don't be crass." I frowned.

"Oh but believe me, fuck me was just what he did. In fact, he's still doing it." At that, he broke into genuine laughter and it was the best thing I'd heard since my arrival in this country.

I couldn't help but to laugh along. It was a good thing that he had a sense of humor and in it, an appreciation for irony. Such things were necessary to survive eternity. When at last he settled himself, he picked at the food on his plate but it was obvious he had no desire or intention to finish the meal. I brought him the only hotel robe and he put it around his shoulders.

"Oh, thank you. I was beginning to feel immodest." He rolled his eyes and rose from the bed. The towel fell away and before he fully donned the robe he was unabashedly exposed. "You really can't think that Lestat would have had anything to do with me if I were reticent in any way so don't expect anything to change there. I really doubt you're unfamiliar with the curves and comforts of male flesh."

I might have considered his impish provocation had we been in different circumstances. In truth, I hadn't indulged in the pleasure of a youthful mortal man for far too long, but here and now was not the time and from what I'd experienced, for maker and fledgling, perhaps there was no good time for such a thing. Some did choose to engage with one another intimately, but the resulting complications as I'd seen them could be devastating. For now, I watched him unconsciously smooth his hand over a thin cord around his hips. It was a treasured token from a lover and I wondered if he would choose to wear it as he crossed over into immortality.

"Am I supposed to head back to my place and pick up my things tomorrow while you're sleeping?" Am I supposed to…" He sighed and sat down to face me once more from the end of the bed. "Listen, you seem like a nice guy - I mean, you do. You seem pretty sane for someone who had to go through this with Armand. From everything I've read and heard, he's more than a little out there."

"That's a probable sentiment." I nodded.

"Whatever reason you did decide to take this on, to come here… I just can't throw up my hands and make the choice you're asking me to make, let alone tell my lifelong friends I will never again be in their lives. It's impossible."

"No, telling them that much of the truth is difficult, not impossible. You may soon find nothing is impossible, regardless of your initial impressions. As I said, you could just disappear, but that's your choice. The decision of accepting this life or not may be far more cut and dried: You decide on eternal life, or you die."

"Is that how you felt when you made the choice?"

I appreciated his directness and answered him with the same. "At that point, I wouldn't have cared one bit if he'd sliced open my throat and shoved me out of the jet to land in a field. I was already dead."

He let that sink in and for a while neither of us spoke.

"Tomorrow, you stay here while I'm sleeping. Order room service to your heart's content. Get some new clothing. This is Rome. I'm sure you can call up a store and have things delivered in your size for the right price, can't you? I will leave a card for your charges. Order whatever fashion you prefer, though I will tell you that the days of vampires dressing in vagabond rags are quite over now; you might want to do something a little more upscale.

" "You're serious?" He raised his brows appreciatively.

"I'm serious." I sat up and leaned toward him. "Do understand Tristan, that I have not always been comfortable in this skin. Rather infamously I went through a time of shall we say, emotional withdrawal. It's something we all experience at times, some more than others. I can tell you about that, and I can tell you most anything you want to know about what it's like to be a modern vampire. I'm supremely skilled at being what I am now and I'll tell you something right away - whatever you want this life to be, it can be that to the ultimate on either side of the spectrum. Everything you love about your mortal life… well, most of it anyhow, can be retained and enhanced. Think about that and it might make your decision even more evident than it is to me at this point."

He understood I felt him quicken with a longing for such things. "I've made no decision." He said with snide aloofness.

"But I think you have, my new friend. I think you made the decision long before now. I think maybe you were prepared to make such a decision when you first met the man in person and certainly when you took to his bed."

"Well, could you be a little more direct? And you tell me not to be crass?" He snorted. "I never thought my relationship with Lestat would go as far as it did."

I rose and walked over to the windows and pulled the draperies. "Oh now Tristan," I said with my back to him, "If you're going to tell lies, you must learn how to do it better so that they work to your advantage." 

"Go to hell." He said with a half laugh.

"I've been there and back. I much prefer the luxury of the present - and you will too. Now let's spend what few hours we have before dawn getting to know one another better." He looked up at me with a bit of fear in his eyes which changed to sensual expectation. "Down boy." I said with an intentionally dry tone. "Like I said, that isn't on my agenda."

For the next two hours, he gave me the Cliff Notes version of his past and present, and for the final hour, I gave him an excerpt from His Future, Option A. There was really little to discuss if, at the final moment he chose death. I would leave him at the location and the birds would pick apart his flesh. Quite an unhappy ending if you asked me.

"The location itself is something you need to choose, but I would prefer to not do the turn here in Italy. Armand is closer than you think and I believe he would pick up on such an event. The last thing I want is for him to step in and fuck it all up."

Tristan let out a tired, easy laugh. "You say that like you've already imagined the whole thing."

"We must always think ahead. It becomes second nature for survival. I have found it easier to be cunning with some forethought. You're not incorrect though - since I decided to be the one to do this, I've thought of little else and so yes, may have already staged it in my mind. Now it's up to you."

Again, neither of us spoke for a while. Sleep pulled at my bones and I stood up to stretch. "Dawn is near. It's time we both found our bed." He looked around in question.

"There's a whole additional sleeping area behind that mirrored door." I said tiredly. "Didn't you get the point that I'm not into being miserly?"

"Then I believe we'll get along just fine."

He stood and the robe slipped from his shoulder. I saw the warm curve of his neck and instantly hungered for his blood. There was time enough for that soon. He could say his farewells, pick a location and then I could taste him time and time again until there was nothing more to do than complete the change. Then he would be mine forever. That thought had me transfixed and though he too stood still, I knew he wasn't getting my thoughts.

"Daniel," He said tenderly. "Whatever happens, I want to say thank you. You've shown me more sympathy and consideration in the last few hours than I've felt in months."

I went without hesitation and pulled him into my arms. Surely he didn't expect it, but after a moment he softened and returned my embrace. Though he shed no tears, I could almost hear a part of him, the part that soon would be no more, weep for all that would be lost and gained in the nights to come. I vowed to myself that to the best of my ability I would ensure that he came into this life knowing that for as long as he wanted me, I would not abandon him. For all the painful inconsistency of emotion I'd suffered at the hands of my maker, I would not thrust the same upon this boy. That decision did not come out of obligation to Lestat or even to Tristan as I held him, but for the man I'd become over time outside of the madness of my past. I kissed his soft curls and urged him on toward the other room. My eyes were so heavy they hurt, and as I undressed and sank into bed, I felt something of a peace I had never known as I surrendered to what dreams might find me in the dark.


	45. Renunciation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reality of his predicament sets in for Tristan and he visits some friends to offer his love.

Tristan

Renunciation

The lifeless droning noise expanding from the light bulbs above my head emphasized the ragged echo of my own imprecations somehow saving me from collapsing onto the tiled floor beneath my feet. I struggled for breath and eventually managed to secure both my hands to the sides of the sink before unconsciousness could drag away whatever was left of me within the immaculate walls of that hotel suite bathroom. I feebly opened my eyes and contemplated what my body had just rejected with such violence. There was no longer any room for ambiguity: food alone could not extinguish my hunger; further it could no longer be assimilated.

It was hard to tell whether I was devastated by the sinister implications of it, or rather by my own indifference as I gazed down into the sink at such pitiful epiphany.

“Che io sia maledetto.” I cursed myself onto the back of my own hand and it finally dawned on me that the very core of this anger threatened to devour me and rather than being directed towards Lestat, as he in all his vanity would have most unquestionably loved to assume, had he even bothered to witness the aftermath of his own carelessness, was in fact only the crestfallen prologue of a solitary Mea Culpa. I could no longer deny that, despite the irrefutable cruelty of his behavior, the one who had sentenced me to this calvary of insanity, carnage and death, was ultimately me. Had I truly ever been fool enough to believe our closeness would have left me one way or the other unscathed in the end? Perhaps it would have been more honorable to admit I’d always known each drop of immortal blood Lestat had accorded, each kiss he had imparted into my flesh had left its irreversible infection deep within. Because not only had I known all along: I had lusted for it.

It all had become so simple, so clear. There was no way I, or anyone else, could reverse the consequences of my own inclinations, my own choices, my own determination. From the moment I let myself long for Lestat in any form, it had been too late.

When I finally staggered out of the bathroom to crawl back into bed, I could smell the golden particles of sunlight as they penetrated into the room through the thick fabric of the curtains drawn across the high window frame. I had to laugh at the thought that this could well had been, if not necessarily the most memorable, one of the last dawns I’d ever been granted to behold just as I had to laugh at the thought of having to part from all that I was and all that I cherished to either embrace euthanasia or to transmigrate into a realm where death was no longer a privilege. Indeed I laughed until I could no longer bear the sound of my own misery. In the terrifying silence that followed, I consciously acknowledged that, possibly for the very first time, in more than any metaphorical or lyrical way, I simply had no desire to restore life as it used to be. I wouldn’t have grieved for any of the ephemeral delights I’d been granted for the past twenty-three years, nor was there room or ambition for any enduring regret in me. In a way all the fatal steps had already been staged a long time ago, for even as I’d entered Lestat’s villa in Ravello, I was, for all intents and purposes, already dead.

What now remained was the ghost of the past clinging to itself. What remained were Sabina and Tullio, whom I desperately wanted to know how devastating my gratitude towards them was.

My eyes tinged with warm agony and I left the bed sheets to drag myself to the window. Beyond the curtains, Rome was waking up to another day. Far over the glistening rooftops domain, the dark mole of Saint Peter’s soared high close to the flaming sky. Somewhere up north, my mother was probably asking the maid to put the kettle on for her breakfast and would have been surprised to know her son was thinking of her after all this time. And in the adjoining room slept an immortal, waiting to convoy me either into eternity or into oblivion. *******

The evening smelled of rain and heavy exhaust fumes and as we walked through the crowd along Viale dei Fori Imperiali I felt Daniel’s attention lingering on my clean-shaven skin.

“I’m glad you approve, Daniel.” I hinted without turning my gaze on him. “And I’m glad you made quite a noteworthy use of both the hotel toiletries and of my credit card.” he hesitated. “Don’t get me wrong but you look even younger in these new clothes.”

“Should I have gone for something less stylish, you reckon?”

He shook his head and snorted. “Not at all. Romeo Gigli suits you to perfection. The glances you’ve been attracting since we left the hotel unequivocally speak for themselves.”

“Could you really blame anyone for staring?” I shrugged. “We are a rather striking couple tonight.”

“Am I supposed to feel flattered by your statement?”

“That’s entirely up you, I guess. I’m merely stating the obvious here.” I checked my mobile phone, pretending his exasperation failed to amuse me.

“Tristan, frivolity aside, I’m taking this very seriously, as I’m confident you already know.” He lowered his voice to a darker murmur only I could detect through the noise around us. I felt my jaw tense despite the façade of indifference I proffered.

“So am I, Daniel.” I glared at him perhaps a bit too sharply. “I would expect the fact that we’re on our way to Tullio and Sabina’s place should be enough to extinguish any trace of doubt between us.”

“Right,” Daniel gave a meaningful nod. “I’m considering this as definitive then.”

“Chances of me opting for a perhaps nobler epilogue would have been implausible to say the least, as I’m sure you already knew even before you made your appearance last night. Lestat might have started it all, you might now bring this fucking circle to completion. But ultimately the choice has always been mine since the very beginning. I’m well aware of this, rest reassured. Besides, just like your own affair with immortality seems to imply, this is hardly a tale about martyrs,” I paused. “But rather about lust.”

He gave me an evasive glance and then quickly looked away. “Lust has very little to do in my case. Armand has hardly ever been anything close to Lestat as far as… well, as far as immoderation goes. And I can tell you I am immensely grateful for this, if for nothing else.”

“Is it really so, I wonder? Surely you’re not suggesting those early diversions between the two of you were devoid of any passion, unless you were far too wasted back then to even understand what was going on, of course.”

“What I’m suggesting is that we should quit talking about him, unless you’re in the mood for some extra truly fucked up catastrophe.”

“I doubt things could hardly get more fucked up than what they already are at this point, Daniel.” I laughed.

“Ah believe me, you couldn’t be more tragically wrong here.” He gave out a short bitter sniggering noise. “Besides, I’d say you had suffered enough unexpected intrusions from our little coven already. Surely you don’t need more threatening surprises right now.”

“You know about David.” I turned to look at him. “Of course you do…”

He nodded and stared hard at me. “And about Louis, yes.”

I had to look away. The moment my attention had shifted from David Talbot’s menacing features to the tall dark figure leaning on the bar counter only a few nights ago, I’m sure that, despite the implacable grip threatening to smash my face, a genuine gasp filled with pain and wonder must have escaped my lips. The thought Lestat could and had made someone as beautiful as Louis go through so much grief, only fueled my rage even further. Until of course I’d recalled I had played a rather vigorous part in the entire process myself.

“He’s possibly and in every conceivable sense the most exquisite of us all, I know will you agree with me on this.” Daniel’s voice pulled me back from my aching reverie.

“Well, this is hardly of any help but thank you for the elucidation, Daniel.”

He laughed but there was warmth in his voice, as if he understood how deeply that brief but terrible encounter had affected me.

“I’m sorry, Tristan. Genuinely, I am. Hopefully very soon you’ll be able to look at all this from a very different perspective.”

“You think immortality can make anyone wiser?” I shook my head and snorted. “I highly doubt it.”

“From what I gather, you already are a pretty wise person.” He studied me with such intensity that I was forced to an abrupt stop right in the middle of the promenade. Daniel moved closer and leaned to whisper into my ear. “And yet wisdom is as fickle as any other gift, unless it’s granted the chance to mature to its full potential.”

“You’re talking about acceptance…” I murmured.

“I’m talking about freedom, Tristan.”

I bit my lip and lifted my eyes to meet the severe countenance forever frozen on the statue of Caesar Augustus only a few steps away. If only we could live long enough to become who we were meant to be, I thought staring into the emptiness of the long gone emperor’s orbits.

“I can’t think of anything more terrifying.” I finally confessed.

Daniel smiled and I felt the benevolent touch of his fingers resting upon my shoulder.

*************

For a long time I just stood outside their door; all that we had once been kept flowing behind my closed eyes in an endless river of images, places we’d visited, laughter, tears we’d shared. When vacillation started to pull at my quickening heart, I saw my hand rise and press the doorbell. I heard movement and soft voices until the materialization of Tullio’s eyes nearly ripped me open.

“Tristan…”

“Sorry for the unheralded visit.” I offered him a tentative smile. He gave me a long silent look and finally, much to my own selfish relief, his face brightened up.

“Stop this nonsense.” He stretched his hand out. “Come in, you know

I’m happy to see you here.”

I took his hand and tried to focus on the irregular paths travelling across his palm, regretting how I never once had devolved much time to know him more unselfishly before.

“What’s going on, Tris…” I grimaced at the concern in his deep voice. “I tried to call you at least a hundred times but you never--”

“I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “I know my behavior has been nothing short of abominable and I need you to know I can no longer stand another minute without granting you –and Sabi- some sort of explanation. I hope this is a good moment.”

“I think it is.” Tullio frowned and then slowly nodded. “She is in the other room. Just let me tell her you’re here.”

I watched him walk toward the bedroom and my heart sank at the thought that this was going to be the last time I allowed myself to be part of their world. Soon from across the wall came a noise followed by loud shouting. Sabina was crying and there was anger in her broken voice. The very next minute I was in their bedroom.

Her delicate face was distorted by a tumult of conflicting emotions, for both fury and desolation kept rolling down her soft cheeks so beautifully that the sight of it could have easily choked me.

“Sabi…” I called her name, taking a step closer.

“Go away!” She yelled and angrily rose from the bed pushing Tullio’s hands away. “I don’t want you here!”

“Sabi, please…” Once again Tullio tried to alleviate her anguish and in the tenderness of his touch, in the indulgence of his voice I could sense all his love for her and all his concern. “Tristan is here to tell us something. I think we all have been waiting for this moment long enough, sì?”

I couldn’t unravel her reaction at first, for the unruly cascade of Sabina’s hair had slid in front of her face hiding all trace of expression. The throbbing movement of her shoulders however was unequivocal and veritably far worse than any verbal condemnation she could have justly ever thrown against me. I sat next to her and as I gathered her hand in mine, I knew that I would never have forgiven myself for wounding her so deeply. Not even eternity would have been vast enough to erase my guilt. Unable to utter a single word, I did the one and only thing I’d been dying to fulfill since our last troubled confrontation in that bar in Trastevere: I pulled her into my arms and felt no shame in letting her feel my own mortification.

“You’re leaving us again, aren’t you?” Her voice was soft with sorrow.

I nodded through the warmth of her hair and breathed her scent in imploring my senses to preserve it forever.

“I always knew this was going to happen. It was just a matter of time, wasn’t it?” I felt her fingers brushing along my back, they way she knew I loved.

“Sabina… This time is different.” Heartbrokenly I parted from our embrace and raised my eyes to meet Tullio’s. “This time will be… indefinite.”

He cautiously sat next to me. “Hasn’t it always been this way, Tris? We’re used to you disappearing for months, years even. It doesn’t matter how long it will take, we’ll be here waiting for you once you’re ready to head back home, sì?”

“But you see? You have just bared the essence of the whole question, for to me this is not home anymore.” I reached my arm out begging

Tullio to let me finish. “There’s something I need to take care of… Something I just cannot discuss and that can no longer be procrastinated. I need you to understand that, no matter how brutal this might sound right now, this is the path I’ve chosen to pursue. And yes, I could perhaps attempt to articulate more sophisticated forms of reassurance, yet I know this would offer very little if none comfort at all in the end.” I let a long defeated sigh out. “I’m leaving Rome. And I’m afraid I just cannot give you any delusional promises about a possible return.”

“I’m not buying it, are you saying you’re not coming back… ever?” Tullio’s laughter died away as soon as he looked into my eyes.

“I’ve already finalized all the necessary arrangements for the dissolution of the studio lease. And as far as far as my apartment is concerned, I’ve authorized a real estate agency to take care of every little vexing logistical detail. This time you won’t need to worry about anything.” I smiled remembering all the times I had called from the other side of the planet urging them to either check my mail, pay this or that overdue bill or more prosaically to make sure no one in my absence had decided to break into my apartment.

“For Christ’s sake, Tris.” From the mounting resentment in the tone of his voice, I knew Tullio had started to acknowledge the inexorability of the situation. “Why… why so suddenly? Why didn’t you tell us before?”

“Tullio, Sabi…there are no valid explanations I could even advance other than tell you I must complete something that I myself have started a long time ago.” I paused and lowered my head. “No matter how much it hurts, in order to find the courage to fulfill my ambitions… I now need to take my leave from you.”

We shared the excruciating stillness following my confession, until Sabina placed her fingers to the side of my face.

“I just need to hear that you will be happy.” Her eyes were so tired, so lovely that I just wanted to kiss them. “You owe us nothing else.”

I fought to spare her the inner convulsion of my own emotions and forced myself to smile for her. “I owe you so much more, Sabi… But I promise you I will try my very best.”

She nodded and then looked away as if my words had involuntarily wounded her. “I love you, Tristan La Roche. Don’t you ever forget this.” In that sacred moment, I closed my eyes and silently renounced my entire world.

By the time Tullio and I walked back into the corridor, it seemed there was nothing else we could say to one another. I turned back to look at him one more time from the doorframe, hoping to find the right words to take my leave in the most elegant, or at least less indelicate way possible. The perception of his sorrow however gouged my chest out to such an extent that hoping to hold back tears would have been simply immoral.

Without stirring the silence that bonded us, we remained in the arms of one another until we both knew the time had come to set us free.

“I want you to know that, no matter how mad I am at you right now, I’ll be here praying that you find what you’re looking for.” Tullio pushed both his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and gave me one of his side smirks. “And by the way, don’t even hope I haven’t noticed the posh outfit. Just please, tell me you’re not leaving us to join some Mafia oriented organization, ok?”

“As a matter of fact you could actually call it something of the sort.” I laughed with him. “But not quite as influential, I’m afraid.”

“You know she will worry for you silly.” Tullio reached out for my arm.

“So, please, just do me a favor and take good care of yourself.”

I nodded. “Thank you for loving her the way you do.”

“We both know you love her just as much.”

He released me with a smile and, as I turned to leave, all I craved for was to hear the sound of the door closing behind me. Yet it never happened. And in that suspension I knew his eyes had followed me until I was gone from his sight forever.

*

As I sat on some rotting travertine step in a deserted square nearby, struggling to process the heartbreak as well as the relief after having said goodbye to the most meaningful part of my life, I sensed the sudden change in the air even before his presence disrupted my solitary meditations.

“I need to go back to my apartment.” I announced flatly. “Don’t worry, there’s not much to pack, but I still need to dispose a few things.”

Daniel merely stared down at me and when I finally granted him my full attention, I was taken aback by the breathtaking change in him. There was a fresh softness on his lips, a different brightness flashing across the now impossibly deeper violet of his eyes and a sort of beautifully entranced expression lingering on his face that almost made him look… Then I understood.

“A rather legitimate request.” he purposely disregarded the discomfort in me and offered me his hand. I accepted the help with palpable hesitation wondering why the thought of him feeding on some imprudent enough to probe the darkest alleys of Rome tourist affected me so deeply. Had I not witnessed Lestat’s hunting skills already, I wondered. Not only I had watched him kill a man; I had begged that he let me lick the viscous blood off his very lips.

I shivered at the memory of the sensation and in that sudden surge of tardive lucidity all I could do was to succumb the vastness of the exasperation within me.

“Damn you all.” I growled pushing his hand away.

“Listen carefully, Tristan, for I am not going to waste another precious minute on this. As soon as I’m finished with this little sermon we’ll go to your place to collect whatever you think you might need to take away with you.” He took a step closer and I felt my breath growing irregular. “Meanwhile I want you to tell me if there’s any particular place you’re thinking of for our arrangement. If not, I’ll make the decision for both. And since we’re already on the subject, I’d say you’re smart enough as to understand the reason why you’re no longer able to process any food, as well as the reason why you’re almost having a swoon now at the mere thought of me feasting on human blood.”

“Christ, is this a genuine attempt to put the whole situation into some kind of tactful perspective?” I laughed at him. “Just give me a break,

Daniel.”

“There’s no time, Tristan. Don’t you understand?” He held my chin until I met his clear eyes. “You’re dying already.”

I took a deep breath and stopped fighting. He was right of course and I had to look away.

“Since this could very easily turn out to be my very last wish,” I paused. “I say it would be quite legitimate to claim Tuscany as the ideal setting for… whatever lies ahead.”

Daniel shook his head. “I’d rather do this as far as possible from

Armand.”

“Fuck Armand.”

I challenged his gaze until I saw his lips softening into a smile.


	46. Tangible Damage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel comes to some realizations of his own.

Daniel

Tangible Damage

Tristan's defiance might have seemed admirable if I didn't have an intimate understanding of Armand and thusly, good reason to not want his interference. I stood up and waited for him to lead the way back to his apartment. I gleaned that there was little he wished to actually collect so far as material possessions, but as part of the affair he wanted to be there once more, to feel his own mortality for one last time in the space that was his own. Soberly such thoughts came from his mind into mine as we walked along the narrow streets though each of us remained silent. I knew his heart was broken not simply for the sorrow of leaving his lifelong friends, but also for what was to come. Mortal life was never usually a hundred percent fulfilling but it was mortal life. Tristan might not have reached the pinnacles he'd dreamed of as a child… few mortals ever did, but no less was it his own life with treasured friends and possessions that now seemed like little more than foggy dreams themselves. Perhaps it had been easier for me when Armand brought me into this life, for I had scantly more than wadded up royalty checks to claim as anything of value in my life. I had no lovers and truly, not even friends at that point. The recurring lust for him and for his blood in addition to my own addiction to alcohol had pushed everyone and everything that mattered out of the picture.

Tristan paused at the bottom of a staircase and leaned against the rough stones. The color had receded from his face and I wondered if he might pass out there and then.

"Are you all right?" I asked as I reached to steady him.

He pulled away with a nod. "I'm fine. Would you wait down here for me? I won't be too long."

I vaguely scanned the street and sat down on the short wall to my right. "Sure. I'll look into what locations are available." It would be easy to look for accommodations on my phone, but not knowing the region of Tuscany, I couldn't be sure what was securable on short notice. "Any suggestions?"

"There are always rentals to be had in Montalcino or Valdera. I'm sure you can make arrangements without my help." He sighed heavily and disappeared up the stairs.

Despite the hour, I made a call to New York. While my friend Benny wouldn't know any rentals in the area available on such short notices, he would know someone who would.

"Yes, yes, I know." I said in apology. "You know I wouldn't call if it weren't necessary. I need you to get in touch with someone there who has a hand in international realty." I listened to him grumble for another five minutes, then as I knew he would, ask for the details of what I needed. "Nothing fancy, I'd say; someplace that's not readily being shown so I don't know, something priced in an exclusionary realm? The one thing I'd ask for is an outside shower… a cabana of sorts, you know, in case dirty work needs to be washed away?"

Benny laughed but in truth I wasn't lying. The act of becoming immortal was messy and even if Tristan didn't know it at this point, I didn't enjoy the thought of him spilling his bowels on a leather Natuzzi sofa. My friend promised he'd have a place set up by early the following evening, and I asked that he e-mail or text me since I was 'tied up' with a situation. Surely that gave him fuel for his imagination but what mattered is that he'd come through for me as always. One of the advantages of being Dan The Man was a reliable network of worldwide associates.

I put away my phone and refocused on Italy. I'd only experienced Venice and Rome but from the photos I saw the Tuscan region was something close to heaven on earth. Did Tristan understand that he would not be able to take in the misty morning views as the fog blanketed the green hillsides? I ended the call and sat there in silence to enjoy the early evening breeze and think about what was to come in the next few nights. How was I going to do it?

All I could think of was to ask myself how I might have wanted it done if I'd had a choice in setting it up. What the hell? Do I create a peaceful setting with candles and Zen-inducing background music? Do I simply say okay kid, come here and let's get this over with?

My reverie was broken by a crash from the apartment upstairs that accompanied a pained and primitive scream. I was up the stairs and through the door in seconds to find Tristan on a floor littered with papers, more than a few empty liquor bottles and most notably, two large photographs in broken frames. He sat in the broken glass uncaring of injury and as I approached him, I saw that the photographs were brilliant images he'd captured of Lestat, one most candid and casual, the other more formal with the dangerously sinful vampire decked out in old world regalia as he posed for his lover. These treasured memories had been not just pulled from the wall but in fact the more casual one was ripped in half and Lestat's laughing smile lay in two pieces against the back of a corduroy ottoman.

"Tristan," I spoke softly. He merely raised a hand to gesture that I stay back and give him space to breath and so I stood in the doorway and waited for his words. In a few minutes, I saw him reach for the photo he had left intact.

"He was thrilled to get into that velvet piece of trash. We found it in the window of a thrift store one night when we were out for a walk. He insisted we go in and he begged the shopkeeper for 'something more vintage', but all he had was the velvet jacket and vest along with the pants. Christ but he nagged the poor guy you know?" In the end the man gave him the rings just to shut him up."

I looked closer and sure enough there were two ornate rings on the visible hand in the photograph, one with an enormous, elongated green stone and the other done in gold filigree alone. I could picture the two of them and Lestat's antics and it made my heart ache for Tristan now.

There was little I could say in response. He already knew I understood his predicament but who could really conceive another's grief? He loved Lestat even now with each of his last mortal breaths. He deserved and would have his moment with the one who had so betrayed him but for now there was little I could do except extend my hand. He took it and I pulled him up from the disheveled bits of his life and back toward the bed in the back corner. Together we sat upon the sagging mattress and he leaned against me, exhausted and weak. I held him against my side and moved back to lean against the wall. When he whispered against my throat, I reached up and cut a jagged line with a piece of the glass I'd collected from the floor.

With alarming instinct, he pressed his lips to the wound and I closed my eyes at the sacredness. None other than Armand had performed such an act upon me in my immortal life, and even his kiss has been so rare that now I could hardly recall the details. Tristan's tongue flicked lightly against my neck and he moaned with revitalized desire.

"Drink lightly Tristan," I said against his soft curls. "Tonight is not the night but you are too weak to go on. We will remain here for the day and soon, so soon, your life will begin anew."

I felt him pull away and collapse against my side, perhaps feeling more connected and assured than he had in some time. I realized as I sat in his little room, that for all intents and purposes he was now my child. The thought almost made me laugh, but instead I lay down and pulled him against my side. The one window in the place had been sufficiently darkened, I supposed from a time when another vampire had stayed here and held him in such a way. The difference I felt now was that for a change, Tristan could trust me, if anyone can ever truly trust a vampire. Soon he would know the humor in my thoughts from that perspective, but of course in no other way would he sense my mind and for that I was somewhat saddened. I'd always felt it was a terribly high tradeoff, but there was so much I could show him of this life, regardless. He stirred and turned over against my chest and I closed around him protectively. I could give him everything I'd never known from my maker, and as I kissed the warmth of his hair, the truth of what was about to happen for Tristan and I lulled me into the deepest sleep I'd known in weeks.


	47. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel thinks things over, reflects on his past and steadies himself for the most important thing he's ever done.

Daniel

Preparation

He must have slept most of the day by my side, but when I awoke an hour after sunset he was nowhere to be seen. For a moment I worried that he may have decided against the whole thing and gone off to experience the dwindling days of his life to their fullest. In the next instant I was further worried when I let myself picture the alternatives - alternatives I used to ponder in depth when I was so infected with mortal blood. Might he be standing on a bridge or perched on a cliff side, ready to jump and put an end to things on his own terms? Just as I was leading myself down the long forgotten road to an anxiety attack, I heard the heavy double doors of the suite close behind me.

"Good, you're back." I said as I turned to him. My voice was much calmer than the thoughts behind them. "We need to get moving. I arranged for a private villa just outside Montalcino as you suggested. It wasn't easy to get the whole thing at the last minute you realize. I was going to suggest simply remaining here in your personal apartment and letting things take place in familiar surroundings, but I thought of those first hours when everything you see is forever changed. I don't want your heart to break any more than it already has in all of this mess. You do realize however that the beauty of Tuscany will also be forever relegated to what you can behold in the dark of night?"

"I'm sorely aware of that fact, Daniel." He said sharply. "But I damn well don't want to have you do it here in this crowded Roman flat where I've done little more than waste my mortal days away."

"Well if that's how you feel, you'll soon have all eternity to make up for it."

********** By midnight, we were settled into the villa that Benny or some other unseen stateside maestro had procured. I sat in the spacious salon and turned my mind to business back in New York since I anticipated being away for some weeks to come. I had no intention of simply dosing the boy with blood and bidding him a fine farewell. I glanced up from my phone as he passed by me in silence and headed outside to the terrace that overlooked a wide, rolling valley. It was easy to pick up his emotions; palpable melancholy came off him in waves tinged with so many other colors such as regret, anger, excitement, fear and a strange but understandable grief.

"I suppose as you pointed out, I better get used to this view." His voice held a degree of sarcasm as I walked over to stand at his side.

"If you're wondering whether I miss the light, I can tell you that I still do even after all this time." I gently pushed a windblown swatch of hair away from his eyes. "I can still see myself in the long ago, before I ever knew of vampires and the addictions that attract them. I used to play baseball with a group of friends at this little park. If I close my eyes and think about it, I can still hear the crack of the bat and how we'd rag on one another for a strike out. What I miss most though, is the feel of the sun on my shoulders that time of year, when spring was just unfolding into summer."

He said nothing for a while then turned to me with a laugh, "You played baseball?"

"I did, and I loved every minute of it. I had a pretty normal life up until the time I was about fifteen, then my friends found other recreational pastimes, and unfortunately I came to enjoy those even more than baseball. If I was ever a half assed ball player, let me tell you that I excelled at being a drunk." He didn't pry for the reason which was good, because there wasn't really any huge incident that led me to drugs and alcohol: In the beginning, I simply enjoyed the effects and chose to pursue them heartily. By the time it wasn't fun anymore, it was too late to simply turn away. "In the year I ran into beautiful Louis and recorded his infamous tale, I was more sober than not. I was successfully tamping down my dark desires for the most part, but that night unraveled me to the core. "

"I can see why. He is outright breathtaking. I confess I am envious that you got to sit with him in such a way and hear his revelations."

"Don't be jealous - trust me, I was as terrified as I was fascinated."

"Do you wish he would have been the one to make you that very night instead of Armand?"

I turned away slightly for the abruptness of his inquiry, asked with the straightforward innocence of one unfamiliar with the intricacies of immortality. How many times after I'd first met Louis had I wished he would return out of nowhere and offer me eternal life? Even since Armand had bestowed the gift upon me, there had been nights when I woke in the middle of troubling dreams where Louis and Armand argued over who would "get to do it" to me - turn me that is - and as I would sit there and wish Louis had won. How different this life may have been for me had I found forever in the arms of one so gentle, rather than at the hands of a sadistic, lustful child.

"Let's go inside." I left his question without answer. It would be like someone asking him years in the future whether he would have rather had one maker or another. In the end even if we have the proverbial choice, it still is what it is - and what it isn't, is a game of eenie-meenie-minee-mo where the whole coven lines up and you get to pick the winner. I pictured that laughed to myself.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

"None taken," I said with an easy smile as I followed him inside with my hand on the small of his back.

****************

For hours we talked by a roaring fire. He sat on the comfortable leather sofa wrapped in a fleece blanket. He took only small amounts of water though I knew he was dehydrated and thirsting for something else altogether. I insisted that he fast for the rest of the night and the next day to come, explaining that when the turn occurred, everything that had gone in would come out, and not too pleasantly. He assured me that while he'd had the thought to gorge himself on the biggest meal he could find the night before as a sort of last supper, he hadn't even gotten halfway back to his flat before tossing it all up again in an alley.

"For the record, let me say again that I'm sorry you're going through this the way you are. I know the physical pain at this point surely outmatches the mental."

With effort he focused his tired eyes on me as I sat in a chair to his left. "Saying goodbye was painful. The rest of it is dull by now... except sometimes when I think of him, then I'm more angry than hurt."

"Do you want to go to New Orleans to see him once it's done?"

He sat halfway up with a slight cough. "I want to wring his motherfucking neck, that's what I want to do." The smile the spread on his lips was menacing enough even without fangs. "Whether it's in New Orleans or New Guinea."

I laughed outright. "Well… I won't fully condone that action, but I do feel you deserve your moment of reckoning. I guess as Lestat said, a showdown is inevitable so you guys may as well get it…"

"Wait, you talked to him and he said that?"

"We spoke the night before I came to you. He said I may as well bring you before you decided to go on your own, but I had to know it was something you wanted. In all this, believe it or not you do have choices Tristan."

"Fuck if I do. Not really."

I didn’t want the subject to go any further afoul, so I used his expletive to lead into other, somewhat related areas. "Speaking of fuck, you may want to get that out of your system tomorrow while you're out enjoying the local daylight."

"Seriously?" He asked flatly. "It's quite the last thing on my mind and considering my recent behavior in that department I should probably forego that activity until afterward."

"Oh Tristan, I doubt that 'it' is ever the last thing on your mind. Unlike some mortals, your sensuality is inherently at the forefront." I got up from the chair and moved to sit at his feet. "But listen to me - You can't think that once this is done you can just go out and have sex with mortals. Things… change, as you've eh, surely noticed."

He laughed sleepily, "Indubitably. I'll soon have a cock of steel. "

"Well…marble anyway." I joined in his humor. "But really … you can't."

"It doesn't seem to be a problem for certain other vampires to go out and fuck whoever they please. Why shouldn't I do it?"

"Because it won't be a good experience for you until you learn all the nuances of your immortal form."

"But when Lestat …"

"We're not going to talk about Lestat anymore. For your sake, let him be an example only of what you don't want to learn."

He sighed and lay down once more. "Daniel?"

I thought he'd fallen asleep. "Yes?"

"Last night, you let me drink from you. Is it really that far gone?"

How weak his voice was in the quiet of the room. "It is, Tristan. There is no turning back now. Tomorrow you must say goodbye to the light and all the life you've known forever. Remember, you still have the choice to deny the gift. I will give you that choice up until the very second my teeth pull away from your throat, but we both know you've already made your decision. "I rose and covered him with another blanket. I could smell his pulse, and I wanted suddenly to pull him in my arms and do the terrible thing without hesitation. I felt an inexplicable wave of emotions: Lust, sadness, and something perhaps protective or nurturing. It struck me full force and left me dizzy as I bent to kiss his head. Without thought, he tried to pull me closer. I had fed heavily as soon as night had fallen and it disturbed the growing hunger within him. I gently eased him into rest upon the pillows. "Sleep now. Take in all you can tomorrow; when the time comes, I want to taste the sunlight upon my lips." I left him and ascended the stairs to the room I'd sealed off earlier. I lay awake and thought again of the monumental event and as I did, that unnamable emotion seeped from my eyes.


	48. Saffron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan makes some final preparations of his own.

Tristan

Saffron

He found me bent over the floor among a wreckage of shattered glass and plywood splinters.

I knew he had seen the damaged photographs from the way he had spoken my name – ever so softly - as soon as he entered the room and I couldn’t help thinking that, as if falling apart wasn't unpleasant enough, having Daniel witnessing my own defeat in such undiluted way was definitely an event I was not prepared to endure.

I raised my hand begging him to let me regain some dignity and, much to my appreciation, he compassionately refrained from voicing his concern. I suppose there was no need for that. It was easy to foretell the way the whole scene must have looked like from his perspective – just another heartbroken kid sitting among the debris of his own life. No matter how desperately I wanted to laugh at the lousiness of it, all I could focus on was the deep cobalt blue of Lestat’s eye gazing back at me from under the shards of broken glass.

The more I stared into the remains of Lestat’s face, the less I could believe I was still mourning for a creature who had not hesitated to callously toss years of affinity, passion and indisputable spiritual growth aside. Then, in cadenced broken murmurs and weary pauses - possibly talking to myself aloud more than consciously bleeding my grief out – I told Daniel about the night Lestat had dragged me into the musty thrift shop on via Leonina. I reached down over the floor for what was left of Lestat’s smile, and remembered how, back in the privacy of my studio, I had then coaxed his ear with soft kisses and heated words until he’d granted me the permission and, I suspect, the honor to arrange the setup for a decadent session between him and my loyal Pentax. I could still hear the sound of our laughter echoing along the walls. I could still see him get into his latest investment and stand in the doorway to challenge me with a triumphant smile across his lips.

I clenched my fist in the understanding that what the camera had succeeded to expose that night, more indisputably than Lestat’s narcissism, was in fact the abyssal desperation of my longing for him - something I knew I could no longer forgive myself about. The deep blue of Lestat’s velvet jacket still vibrated rich and undefeated under the gold of his hair; I was sure even Daniel could perceive how this– the photograph I just could not bring myself to destroy – had in the end turned into the relic of my own delusions.

“Christ, you must think I’m such a fool.” I said in a torn whisper.

“Hey, this isn't about me right now.” I heard the floor crackle under Daniel’s feet as, ever so discreetly, he moved closer. “And anyway, I can tell you that if I thought you were foolish, I wouldn't bother with you.”

I had to smile at the benevolence his words implied. “Ah but you see I am a fool and it hurts having to accept that ultimately I’ve been nothing more than yet another transitory diversion, while he has been- and regrettably still is- the most pervading obsession of my entire life.” There was no denying the fact that for right or wrong, the fierce love I felt for him was beyond anything I'd ever known or may ever know again. No matter how furiously I tried to deprecate that part of me -the love-stricken boy still believing the vampire Lestat would have returned to gather my hands in his, whispering soft apologies upon my forehead – the truth was I didn’t know how to live without it either.

“Now, Tristan. I’m sure we both know all too well this is hardly the case. The tragic and indeed short-lived divertissement of this story had a name and that was Lucas.” Daniel sighed behind me.

“Oh please, is there really any substantial difference between Lucas and me? Did Lestat fuck him with less conviction perhaps?” I gave out a short, bitter laugh. “I wouldn’t think so. What I think is that we both acted like needy children in our blind and indeed one-sided adoration of him and paid for it, and despite what you might state next, the mere fact that I’m still alive and he’s not certainly doesn’t prove Lestat has ever favored me best, so stop making Lucas sound as the only victim here.”

“Do you realize you’re making it sound like a competition? I honestly find it quite disturbing.”

“Well, for your information it _is_ fucking disturbing, yes,” I pressed one hand over my eyes. Could he see I was shivering out of anger and exhaustion? “At least Lucas never had to cope with the mess of being turned into some sort of ill-fated hybrid. Look, I’m not saying he’d had it any easier, especially with Armand showing up. But Lestat never gambled with him the way he obviously did with my sanity –with my trust. He didn’t corrupt Lucas’ blood with his own to a point of no return only to toss the kid out of his way once he grew tired of the game.”

“Hey, I'm not arguing that he treated you both like shit, okay? You, Lucas, Louis... Christ, poor Louis. I don't know how he puts up with Lestat's nonsense. I know I wouldn't.”

Oh but I didn’t want to listen anymore. I didn’t want to think about Louis – not the lover, but the beloved - the only one worthy of Lestat’s unstained devotion. All the rest was - and always would have been – a marginal flow of superfluous and, in the long run innocuous pastimes. I suddenly felt squalid.

“You're hardly 'on your own' - I mean, I'm here right? I could have told Lestat to piss off, but I'm here.” he bent down to prompt my chin with the cold touch of his thumb. “You should know too that unlike you, Lucas was never offered an alternative.”

I cautiously lowered my hand and looked up to find Daniel’s eyes full of quiet and unambiguous light.

“But had you thought of it? Did you ever taken into consideration the possibility of turning Lucas into your fledgling?” I asked him with genuine curiosity.

Daniel retrieved his hand from me with a weary smile. “I probably thought of it then more than I am willing to admit; I'm not sure why it didn't happen. It would have been easy enough to do, but I guess the time wasn't right or maybe the mortal wasn't right.”

“Saved your favor for another.” I provoked.

Daniel gave me a stern look and then laughed softly. “Well aren't you humble!”

His laughter was spontaneous, heartfelt and genuine and I couldn’t help thinking how different it was from Lestat’s fierceness. “You know what I find devastating?” I asked. “To think that he had it all planned since God knows when and never once hinted at the slightest mention of it. He could have at least granted me the courtesy of looking me straight in the eye to tell me what was going on, but no. He just fucked me one more time for the sake of it and then, grazie e arrivederci, he dismissed me from both his bed and life for good. ”

“Well, some of us clearly deserve a son of a bitch sticker better than others.”

“And I wonder who better than you can attest to such tragedy?”

“What is that, a not so subtle allusion to Armand?”

“Totally and hey, he deserves a bloody badge,” I laughed at the mild exasperation mounting in him. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to turn down your offer out of fear of developing into an immortal sadistic bastard. As a matter of fact, I hope this will be the case. I’m tired of suffering and I’m tired of regrets.”

“Speaking of regret,” he smiled despite the shadow in his voice. “Do you regret that it won't be him that brings you over and makes you one of us?”

“Ah please, how am I even supposed to answer that, Daniel? Don’t you see? It doesn’t really matter now. Lestat never really exposed what his reflections on the subject were. At least now I know the reason why he ever so promptly evaded my curiosity whenever I probed him with it. He never meant to turn me –more importantly, he couldn’t have cared less,” I felt a gripping pain seizing my upper stomach and had to take a long, careful breath hoping to fight back the sudden wave of nausea. “He just fucks everything - and indeed everyone - up and demands to dictate whatever the outcome might be on his own terms. How typical of him.”

“Very. However don’t assume I’ve rushed all the way from my life in New York to you at the snap of Lestat’s fingers,” Daniel reached out to brush a strand of hair away from my eyes. “I'm here for deeper reasons as you may or may not know.”  

Suddenly I ached to unravel the impenetrable cloud of his most intimate thoughts, I wanted to know everything about Daniel Molloy - the immortal Lestat had designated to become my maker. I studied his face, lingering upon the contours of his mouth - wondering what he tasted like. “Well, excuse me?” he raised his eyebrows at me.

“I’m sorry,” I laughed shaking my head. “My brain is on overload and gets carried away easily, you see.”

“It’s not your brain what worries me, Tristan.”  

“Seriously now, Daniel. You have no reason to let yourself be disquieted by any of my attributes. Well, not tonight anyway.”

“Spoken like a true smartass. And I’m not sure this was meant to be a compliment.”

“Well, I wished I could just laugh at that.”

“Then I’d say you should,” He stood up and extended his hand. “Come. It’s been a long and quite demanding night. I want you to rest and let it all settle for now. I made arrangements to leave Rome tomorrow night. Mind you, this was no easy task and you know I don’t even particularly approve,” he wrapped his arm around my shoulders to steady my steps. “But I think I managed to honor your request.”

“We’re going to Tuscany?” I gave him an incredulous yet hopeful smile. “Really?”

He nodded and then silently led me to what used to be my bed. We sat down on the rumpled bedspread and I probed the heavy darkness between us searching for his hand.

“Daniel?”   He pulled me into his arms and I instantly experienced an uncalculated sense of relief.

“I’m right here.” He murmured.

I pressed my lips to him and, in a warm flow of feeble whispers, I entrusted all my agony, fears and expectations onto the hard skin of his throat. In my exhaustion I was drifting in and out of consciousness when suddenly I caught an indistinct gashing noise and, before I could even form a single rational thought, a rich gush of blood erupted thick and full into my mouth leaving me writhing in absolute bliss.

“Drink lightly, Tristan,” he whispered through my hair. “Tonight is not the night.” The swoon swelled through me like liquid radiance –quickening my senses and dangerously igniting my desire. I pulled away from the already healing wound with a reluctant moan and collapsed against Daniel’s side. Did he mind that I could not stand to part from him now? Ah but I wanted him to know how deep was my gratitude, how sweet his blood tasted- yet I could no longer resist the heavy torpor that quickly descended upon me and the words died in my throat.

“We will remain here for the day and soon, so soon, your life will begin anew.”

I surrendered to sleep with Daniel’s deep voice rippling over my skin and the taste of him sealed upon my lips.

 

************

     A pale mist lingered above the rolling hills, soft and vaporous, like the quiet breathing of an invisible living creature, and, tall in their solitude, the cypress trees stood in a dark succession against the horizon. I’ve always wondered why only cemeteries seemed to welcome their silent shade, almost as if their very sight was an ominous synonym of death. Yet the voluptuous landscape beckoning me on from beyond the front room windows, far from being a graveyard, rather belonged to sweet Tuscany - the place I’d wanted Daniel to take me to - and there, within the dry-stone walls of the villa that would have soon witnessed the demise of my humanity, no matter how it could be otherwise debated, there was no sinister allegory to be found. We had parted shortly before dawn, after a long night spent by the fireplace sharing confidences and intimate perspectives – he retiring to the safety of a darkened bedroom upstairs and me grabbing the rented car keys to venture into the light of the sun for what I knew to be the last time.  

I wandered among fields of poppies and sunflowers and tall unripe wheat until, around mid-morning, I eventually reached the small

Renaissance hill town of Pienza. I left the car to explore by foot its tortuous narrow alleys, the luminous squares and, ultimately, to fall in love with the decorated Gothic vaults of the Duomo and with the rays of the sun filtering in through the imposing majesty of the nave glass windows to flood the terracotta floors, until a large group of tourists, prodded by their fastidiously loud guide, burst into the apse forcing me to retreat and reemerge into the daylight to escape the ugliness of their bovine expressions.

I could have easily and quite freely surrendered to a variegated sequence of blasphemies - blaming mass tourism, cultural degradation and other calamities – when, back in the piazza, I suddenly spotted something pretty in a shop window and decided to devolve my energies into some frivolous but oh so pertinent shopping spree instead.

“Want to try that on?”

I glanced over my shoulder to acknowledge the not too friendly shop assistant as she stared back at me with blank boredom - her thoughts revealing all she was waiting for was the lunch break closure hour to finally strike on the old clock near the store entrance. It certainly did not take any supernatural talent to decode this much.

“There’s a fitting room just behind the corner over there.” She went on in her heavy Tuscan accent to –I suspect- better emphasize the statement and make sure I did get the message - which I did but really couldn’t bother to go through the whole process of fidgeting with buttons in a narrow smelly cubicle.

“Thank you,” I handed over the little treasure I had just retrieved from the shirts stand in front of me. “That won’t be necessary.”

She intently studied the garment in her hands and then rewarded me with what could easily have been her very first genuine smile of the day.

“Pretty bold choice. I like it – I think.”

“Indeed quite irreverent, yes. I reckon I’ll just have to admit that,” I conceded with a short laugh. “Incidentally, it makes me think about all that saffron – as a color- epitomizes.”

“And what is that word even supposed to mean?”  

“Epitomize?” I blinked. How could I not find this girl’s rustic flippancy amusing? I took a moment to appraise the pouting expression on her face, enhanced somehow by the silver stud piercing the soft flesh right below her lower lip. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen so she instantly won my deepest sympathy. “It means to represent, no need to get nervous about it.”

“Got it, what about saffron then?” She slipped the plastic hanger out of the shirt collar and threw it into a cardboard box on the floor.

“There’s a whole community of holy men in India known as sannyasi.” I explained as I placed Daniel’s credit card on the counter, secretly loving the paradox of it all. “That’s the name for those who choose to renounce all worldly pursuits and pleasures on their quest for spiritual enlightenment. Symbolically, a sannyasi casts his physical body into fire by wearing saffron robes, which both signifies purification of the physical body through the element of fire as well as the liberation of the soul while the body is still alive. That’s why generally sannyasis are not cremated after death, as most Hindus are, but may instead be buried. Does this answer your question?”

The girl had finished to fold my shirt and, for quite a prolonged moment, she just stared at me. “I guess it does, but hey, this is some pretty weird stuff for real. Why would anyone give up all the goodies to turn into a tramp? I just don’t get it.”

“Maybe because some experience possessions, social roles and their inevitable duties –in other words, the ‘goodies’ you’re referring to- as a cage?” I suggested.

“Yeah, I think I kind of get your point here,” she mused over it. “But hey I’d rather be a punk than a holy beggar, you know.”

“That’s understandable,” I laughed out loud. “Besides chances are the world would turn into such a tedious place if we all decided to pursue sainthood all at once.”  

“But are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Trying to become a saint?”

The question, I’ll confess, took me completely off guard; so much that I, for once, had to swallow my presumption and take such possibility into humble consideration. What was immortality after all if not redemption from all that human blindness and constraints imply?

“No, definitely not a saint. Not me,” I eventually managed to assert.

“I suppose I just want to understand who I am.”

“Well, you should definitely start by wearing this shirt.” She smiled.

“I’m sure it will bring you good luck. Saffron and all.”  

“I truly hope so.”

“Listen, hm… tonight there’s a really cool party in Siena,” She said handling me the freshly printed receipt. “This might sound a bit too rushed but I was thinking that perhaps we could go there together.”

I had to laugh at the whole situation for a moment and was almost tempted to reply that, hadn’t my own death been scheduled for that very evening, I might have gladly honored the invitation.

“Thank you, but I’m afraid I’ve already got plans that simply cannot be postponed.”

“That’s a pity,” She shrugged. “It’s going to be a hell of a night and you’ll be missing it all, love.”  

Ah but darling, if you only knew the trial I will undergo in a few hours you wouldn’t state this so lightly, I wished to tell her. Instead I simply gave a knowing nod, took the paper bag from her hands and left her to the safe delusions of her lovely naiveté and to the expectations of the party ahead. As for me, I couldn’t help acknowledging that, what had just taken place across the counter of that shop, was very likely my last chance to flirt innocently with a girl without murder being necessarily implied. I shook my head at my own callousness and quietly closed the door behind me. May your life be long and uneventful, my beauty, I sighed: May I never cross your path again.

Outside the air smelled of burning wood, hearty food and moss. The sun was fading away from the wet cobblestones below my steps, leaving behind something very close to grief.

Daniel had insisted that I should have consecrated the day ‘taking in all I could’ but, while I was all too aware and indeed grateful for the tactful recommendation, I had ended spending the great part of the last evanescent hours of my mortality sitting under the olive trees surrounding the Abbey of Sant’Antimo*, lulled by the solemn voices of the

Premonstratensians canons chanting their love of God. I could not think of a more respectful way to part from what to me embodied that sacred longing only those destined to die ultimately need to identify with.  

By the time I drove back to the magnificent villa Daniel’s connections had located and rented for him on the outskirts of the town of Montalcino, it was already dark.

Only a few more hours and it would have been all over. I walked up to the front door and hesitated on the uneven stone steps. ‘When the time comes, I want to taste the sunlight upon my lips’ had been the words Daniel spoke to me at the end of our first night in Tuscany. I turned back to take the view of the garden in - the stillness of nature breathing under the stars, the whispering of the crickets reaching me from the orchard, the beauty and the horror awaiting beyond the hedge.

Darkness. I wondered whether I was deluding myself again, I wondered if I was truly that eager at the prospect of renouncing another dawn. Yet, as soon as I closed the door behind me and caught the sound of him moving in some other room of the villa, I knew there was no trace of regret in me, nor my heart threatened to break at the recognition of having just said goodbye to the light forever.

The truth was, I had taken my leave from it all a long time ago in the arms of another immortal.


	49. To Every Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pivotal night arrives for Daniel and Tristan

Daniel

To Every Season

When I woke the next evening, he had not yet returned from whatever last activities or enjoyments he was pursuing. I found myself wishing for the familiar comforts of my condo as I rose and dressed in a casual shirt and jeans I'd purchased in Rome. What exactly does one wear on such a monumental evening? The shirt was a deep blue, with long sleeves and a silken sheen that felt soothing to my skin and given the fact that I suddenly felt the weight of the night upon me, it was a welcome comfort. I made my way down the narrow, carved steps into the salon and stood in the emptiness of the cold room. The weather here was surprisingly similar to springtime in New York: damp and slow to arrive. I walked out onto the terrace through the wide glass doors. There was a smaller building off to the right, smaller than a guest house and upon investigation, I found it to be a sort of cabana. There was a small pool that was remarkably clean, I suspected for potential renters to appraise. I bent and traced my fingers in the water and loved that it was well heated. I was sure that had been done for me in advance and noted to thank whoever was responsible. In addition, there was the shower I had requested, a comfortable seating area and a great fireplace. I took some cut wood from the stone alcove and assembled it in the hearth as if I'd once earned a merit badge in fire building. Sure there are fancy vampire tricks like starting a fire, poof with your mind, but what they don't usually tell you is that they often have to lay the logs first, so why not just use a match for Chrissakes?

I settled down onto the invitingly worn sofa of grey leather when suddenly I spied a wireless audio unit on a far table. It was easy enough to dock my phone there and hook it up to real speakers instead of the failed if valiant effort of mobile technology toward such melodic enjoyments. Of course, what sort of music does one select for such a task as I was about to perform? That question had been rolling through my mind from the night Lestat left me in London. I understood that the soundtrack was of little importance overall and the fact that it would be integrated with the memories of this night, it was important to me.

It felt a lot to me like trying to plan the first time you're going to have sex with someone, and in a way, that wasn't a stretch of the imagination. The thing was, I could plan the music, the lighting and the words until they made a grand romantic musical in my head, but in the end only one thing would matter. I got up and fiddled with the settings until I had things as I wanted them, then sat once more to let the music take over while my thoughts slipped away. How long would it be now before I was part of the circle of immortals that had brought another over into this world? I couldn't help to think of Lucas once more, and wonder why I hadn't done it with him. Why hadn't Lestat wanted it done to him for that matter? The answer most simply as I saw it was that Tristan was The One, and Lucas had only been a strange, masturbatory substitute. I shook my head as I stared into the fire and listened to some clichéd pseudo-gothic band plead and lament to whoever might be listening. I was only thankful that I'd mixed in some modern tracks and smiled strangely while I understood that at the end of my mortal days, I was everything a goth boy should be, even if I was missing the uniform of the era.

My reverie was broken when I smelled a flicker of mortal death. I turned with my arm on the back of the couch to see Tristan in the doorway. He offered a wan smile and stepped into the warmth of the room.

"Hey," he said quietly as he pulled out a seat at the bar. "You must know the right people to get such nice accommodations on short notice." He was wearing only a robe and even without seeing it, I knew that thin rope was still draped upon his hips. I briefly wondered why it bothered me to any degree, but ignored it in favor of general observation.

"Seems like I do, yes." I studied his weakened form and wondered if he understood… but no, how could any mortal wrap their head around the situation at hand. I rose and walked over to him but as I touched his shoulder, I couldn't think of what else to say. Should I ask if he was ready? Is anyone ever really ready to die? "Did you … take care of whatever things?" I said, and felt stupid the minute it left my mouth.

"Since I'm following your recommendation to fast, eating a huge last meal wasn't on the agenda and I doubt I could have kept down even a minimal feast. Mainly I walked around and just thought about everything that's happened and everything that's going to happen."

His expression was soft, but his eyes were filled with a need that maybe only a vampire could comprehend. I offered my hand which he accepted, and I led him back through the doorway and onto the terrace. The night was clear and not unduly cold, and in the countryside, a thousand stars twinkled overhead. Without prelude I pulled him into my arms. He trembled and leaned against me as the mildest breeze touched his face. Again I felt that any words would be inadequate, and I could not deny my own hunger for his slow and seductive pulse. Gently, I turned his face toward mine and when his eyes met mine I could see in them all the emotions that could be expected at such a moment, except for one: There was no fear. Without thinking, I kissed his mouth. It was not a kiss of passion or lust, but of reception and initiation: This was the point of no return. He brought his arms around me and returned the kiss with more ardor than I expected. Still came the knowledge that it was not lust but acceptance and truly, surrender. He was leaving his life behind in my embrace and for all the tragedy he'd endured, his lips conveyed an eager anxiety that at once obliterated any foolish preparations I'd tried to make for this moment and fueled the desire to bring him into this life forever. I heard him murmur, perhaps my name, perhaps a prayer I could not tell for in that instant, I was bent to his throat to take the first fatal drink. He clutched my hair and cried out. Despite the fact that he had suffered the bite of a vampire in the most intimate experiences, it was nothing compared to the one intended to deliver death. As his hands clawed my neck, the warm tide of his life poured into my mouth. Memories swam from his veins; the man who'd loved him so long ago, his mother in the kitchen preparing for a party, swimming in the sunlit

Mediterranean, laughing with the boy he'd loved in India, drunken crying with his best friend and a strikingly beautiful girl.

The taste of Tristan's years was better than any wine I'd ever had as a mortal and better than any drink I'd ever taken from Armand himself because… because what, Daniel? I could almost hear a chorus of elders asking as I paused only briefly before making a fresh incision just above the precious curve of his collarbone.

Because, I answered them, this was my own.

Damn that the one who had tormented Tristan and brought him to this need had known somehow that I would come to want it like nothing I'd ever known. A strangled moan rose into the night air, echoed by me with an instinctive and yes, lustful growl as I took him down to the rough stones at our feet. As Tristan's memories moved without sequence I could taste and see him with Lestat, writhing in his bed. Their passions had been hot and often tinged with something close to anger but the effect was not lost on me. I felt the electricity of physical arousal flush through me from head to toe, but it was short lived. There was nothing I wanted now other than his blood. I was starved for it, and yet I reminded myself of his already weakened state and that it wouldn't take much to let it go too far. I did not want to bring about his death… but my head was spinning with such intoxication, such as no mortal can ever know, and I wanted him in every way… alive, dead, intimately, loyally…. forever. There was no logic, no order and no reason: I was alive in his dying and as I pulled back from his throat, the thought made me laugh aloud as a thick clot fell from my lips.

"Tristan," I said, my voice ragged. "You must tell me." I could barely get the words to form, but I had to hear it, and had hopefully allowed him the strength to mutter that final acceptance or denial.

"I want," he sputtered, his voice not even a jagged whisper in the night air.

Oh, I knew what he wanted. I wanted. I wanted, and wanted and wanted.

"Want, with you, yes," it was all he could manage before his head fell to the side.

He was falling into the abyss, and for me those few words were enough though I had known his choice from the outset. I felt a satisfied, hungry smile spread upon my lips and stood up, effortlessly bringing him up in my arms. The robe fell away and I allowed myself a more than appreciative look at his body with the knowledge that tonight was the last his skin would be so supple and inviting… ah, but there was no time for sensual appraisals, regrettably. I carried him into the pool house and the sudden warmth of the room caused him to open his eyes. He was unthinkably beautiful and as I stared down at him, he tried to pull himself up with one arm around my neck. How I must look to him as I held him: His blood drying on my face, my fangs wet with it and glistening in the firelight.

Anyone but a boy ready to become immortal would die from shock, I thought, and fighting the urge to laugh at a most inappropriate time, I laid him on the floor near the hearth. He tried to sit up and move against me and I knew this as a testament to the strength of his thirst, but it was not quite time.

"Just once more," I eased him back against the thick rug, glad that it offered him comfort against the cold of the polished concrete floor. "One more drink and death will be at hand. Then, you can drink as no other creature." I felt that dark laughter threaten again and wondered for a split second if it was something inherent from the spirit that had initiated our kind thousands of years before, and in that thought were other images, unbidden, as I'd seen them in my own making: Armand, Marius, Akasha, Enkil and All Who Had Come Before. As I lowered my mouth to the untouched side of his throat, I bit into his flesh with the soundtrack of a thousand mortal deaths playing in my head. I heard another, more strangled cry and felt his body rise as incomprehensible pain and pleasure became the singular light in his fading thoughts. I tasted the telltale threat of death in his blood. It had the sound of an irregular clock as the pulse stuttered and an unmistakable taste that to me had always brought to mind old cigarettes from the days when I had smoked them fresh from the gutter.

I raised myself abruptly and wiped the back of one hand across my mouth. I looked down and without any hesitation, broke the flesh on my inner wrist and put it to his lips. Instinctively, he sucked at the wound and fought as it tried to seal beneath his inquisition. "That's it, yes. Harder…drink," I pressed closer, lying down beside him and urging the effort. I was not prepared for the pain that coursed through me; it was something I hadn't really given thought to in the process. I'd been thinking of the event overall and not each step from A to Z including what it would feel like for me. How could I not have thought beautiful Louis as he told me his story and how it had been when Lestat created him? He'd said how Lestat fell away to the ground from the pain of the blood being pulled from him, but had Armand been so affected? Had it hurt him as now it felt to me that shards of glass were ripping backward through my veins as Tristan sought to widen the fount? I could not recall for in that time, I had been dreaming of gardens and rain. This pain was all too real. His hands came up around my wrist to pull it closer.

I felt his tongue move against me as my blood and the blood of all the others became his forever. I was shaking. I wanted to cry and laugh and climax all at once and with that thought I became again aware of his nakedness. With my free hand I caressed his chest until I felt him rise in response and it was then that I reached down to deftly remove the tattered cord from his hips. All the while I had held my eyes upon his to see the new life flickering there and as he understood what I'd done, he struggled abruptly to sit up in protest.

"No," I said, and pushed my hand against his chest. I handed him the fabric, for I knew it was important to him. "Ssh, Tristan… mortal ties are gone." I stroked his cheek to quell his anger. I brought him swiftly against me, much as if he were a lover so that he was seated in my lap, his legs locked around my waist. That anger could not be sustained for his weakness, and his head fell against my chest. The wound on my wrist had closed, and without thought, I opened a jagged line on my neck and quietly urged him toward that which would complete his metamorphosis. He latched on with renewed thirst and drank deeply as I let my hands moved over his back. I thought I could feel his flesh changed already to something harder, but before I could dwell on such things, he abruptly pulled back with a gasp and I knew the most difficult transition was at hand. Despite that, he leaned back into me to drink before the source healed itself. He managed to latch on and pull himself closer, but as harsh spasms took hold of his limbs.

_(Felt it in my fist, in my feet, in the hollows of my eyelids_

_Shaking through my skull, through my spine and down through my ribs*)_

There was no way he could remain lost to such pleasure. I clutched him against the bareness of my chest. He'd fairly ripped away my shirt and what was left of it was beyond repair. I quieted him as I stood up only long enough to remove all my clothing. Maybe I should have greeted him tonight with myself in a robe as well, but there was no Book of Etiquette to consult when one is turning another into a vampire, so hindsight as they say, was twenty-twenty and then some. He cried out as the pain ripped through his gut, his stomach convulsing. I picked him up and carried him into the shower at the outer edge of the pool and turned on a warm flow of water.

"You know what is happening," I said reassuringly. "This is the hardest part and it will be over soon."

"Oh but God it hurts," he answered. "Please, don't leave me."

"The thought never crossed my mind." I kissed his cheek tenderly and moved us both under the warmth of the showerhead. "Close your eyes, Tristan. Close them and let go."

He leaned against me and relaxed for only a few breaths before more spasms wracked his body. I lowered with him to the floor and held him from behind. The pain brought tears to his eyes as he looked up and I met his mortal gaze for a final time. (No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone) All that he'd contained in that body began to leave him, and if nothing else I was glad that for the memory of my own making I'd thought to insist on the house having a place for such unpleasantries to be washed away. Tristan convulsed a final time, whispered something unintelligible, and was still in my arms. I held him and questions raced through my mind; did I do it right? Was it enough? What if something went wrong? Again, there was no manual to consult and although it was something learned by our own Maker, there was I assumed, margin for error.

Just then, his body stiffened in my arms and he drew in a great gulping breath. _(And all my bones began to shake, my eyes flew open)_ He sat up with a fluidity no mortal would manage, but said nothing. I understood all too well: Everything was different in that instant, from the sound of his own inhalations to an acute awareness of the newness of his own flesh. For just a second, I was right there with him as I remembered the feeling, and I couldn't help the smile that came onto my face.

"Tristan," I said softly as I stood.

He turned and looked at me, but he wasn't seeing Daniel Molloy who had first met him in the deserted garden of the museum, he was seeing his Maker. He was seeing himself and life anew and unending. Still bearing that knowing smile, I bent to take his hand in mine and pull him to his feet. Just then, there was a bittersweet pain in not being able to fully know his thoughts, for I truly might have wished to slip inside and hear the exclamations and sense the amazement as he did.

_(All around the world was waking, I never could go back. Cause all the walls of dreaming, they were torn wide open. And finally it seemed that the spell was broken)_

He managed to say my name and then anything he said was mumbled in broken Italian as he rocked against me. His hands caressed my chest as he looked at my body anew, and then his own, then back to me with a short laugh of amazement.

Without comment, I took his hand and led him toward the pool. I backed down the short steps, relishing the feel of the warm water as it inched up my legs. He hesitated only for a minute, bedazzled by the patterns on the surface, and then with an almost laughably regal tilt to his head, came down the steps and into my arms. He kissed my neck over and over and without verbal or mental confirmation, I felt gratitude in his every touch. When he brought his lips to mine I did not resist, and as we kissed I experienced a new burst of my emotions when my tongue met the sharpness of his new fangs. I guess that was the hallmark of my success, wasn't it? I moved apart and faced him, brushing his wet curls away from his face.

"Oh but now you are truly more dangerous than ever." I laughed out loud if only to let the tumult of emotions break over the dam.

"Evidently so," he laughed as well. "Daniel, I haven't the words…"

"No words, not yet." I assured him. "For now, do what it is you have been born to do." I turned my head to the side in invitation and he wasted no time in accepting the offer despite the pain I now knew would accompany the draw. Those wicked teeth pierced my flesh and he drank as I held him but offered no anesthetic. I cried out as the barbed wire sliced through my veins to nourish him and more than once felt the threat of blackness behind my eyes. We moved against one another, the water warm and embryonic for this rebirth. He stopped. I drank from him, and he once again drank from me. Finally, we sank below the surface and I moved him against the side of the pool.

His eyes were full and mesmerizing, his laughter full and rich with the fascination of the moment. With his legs wrapped around me, he raised his eyebrows in another sort of invitation.

"Really?" I tried to sound scolding. "That's one of the first things you think of?" he shrugged with a challenging smirk. "Of course you do." I could not deny the appeal. His flesh was firm, and as he climbed out and stood tall before me I had to admit that he was a desirable fledgling, but I knew he would be from the first night I'd seen him. Despite the allure, I wanted to maintain our relationship without that element so as I walked over to the steps and out of the pool, I said nothing further on the matter. He stood there for a minute longer before he had the thought to go outside.

I put on my pants, shoes and socks and he hadn't yet come in so I joined him. "You might think about getting some clothes on, it's not exactly summer." I advised.

"The stars, it is as if I can count each one." he answered without taking his eyes from the cloudless sky. "And it isn't as if I'm going to freeze to death now is it?"

"I suppose not." I stood half in the doorway, "Though there's a difference in being impervious to the cold and enjoying it to be sure."

"You're right." he agreed finally and came over to me. "Let me drink again. I want some more. Isn't that the famous line I'm supposed to say?"

"You've already said and done it," I laughed softly and put my arm around his shoulder. His skin was like ice and I pulled him inside with me and shut the sliding glass door behind us. He had at least picked up the robe from outside, but it was forever stained and he looked at it for several minutes, then to me.

"That's my life, you know." he shook his head as surely he replayed what had transpired.

"No, that was your life." I countered.

He walked over to the hearth and bent to pick up the rope of material I'd taken from his waist. "It was my life, yes."

I couldn't tell how he felt about losing the token of his lover's affection, but what I did know is that it was time to extinguish the fire (this time with the mind trick for impression's sake) and head into the house. Time had slipped away and dawn would come sooner than welcome. "Tristan, your mortal life is behind you - everything from that slip of fabric to the tedium of using the bathroom."

He burst out laughing. "Oh but this has been so much work and drama to spare me from having to piss?"

"It's just one of the many benefits.” That was a stupid thing to come out of my mouth on such a monumental evening, but as I’ve said – I didn’t know the first thing about the procedural aspects of making a fledgling. Maybe the next time David Talbot felt like authoring a book, he’d put together some sort of conclusive manual on the subject. “Let's go inside where you can get some clothes, or did you plan to run about like a… "I caught myself, the next word hung in my throat. For a second, I stared at him more intently as if he'd been the one to put the thought in my head, then I shook it off and picked up my ruined shirt. "Come on Tristan. The night is waiting for you, now and forever."


	50. First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lessons and laughter for a beginner and his teacher.

Daniel

First Night

He followed me and without much more conversation, went to his room. I went to my own suitcase to get a light, tight fitting sweater. He might think it fun to romp about outside in the damp, cold air, but I preferred creature comforts as a rule.

When I came down from my room, he was standing in the dining area dressed in black jeans and a long sleeved, updated version of what was once called a poet's shirt. It was a lustrous saffron color and I knew at once he'd picked it out to wear only after he'd been turned. He'd dried his hair and the rebellious curls fell into his face as he looked up from an antique tea service he'd been examining. Nothing would escape his scrutiny in the months to come, for seen through new eyes, everything held a new intrigue. Objects came to life and begged to be touched, and hell, he hadn't even seen a crowd of mortals through those eyes yet.

"I don't want this night to end." he said as he turned toward me. His hand trailed along the dark wood with feline grace as he approached.

When I looked from it to his face, whatever I had planned to say hung in my mouth and I took several steps back. I could not look away and hoped that I didn't display to him the shock and then, as it set in, the amusement. That amusement, if that's what it was, soon began to dance with disbelief and other emotions that would not fully reveal themselves.

"Daniel?" his voice had changed to something richer, and I saw that he noticed it too with a pause. "Are you all right?"

"I'm uh, I'm yeah… I'm good." I answered with an attempt to clear my head. He may not have been able to hear my thoughts, but I didn't much want to hear them either. "That shirt is quite stunning, that's all. Did you pick it up yesterday?" I couldn't make myself unaware of the way he moved now, the deliberate sensuality in his body - I mean deliberate in the sense that it was likely one of the first things that would catch anyone's eye now, deliberate, not forced, not put there intentionally. Oh hell, I didn't know what I meant.

"I picked it up at a thrift store, can you imagine? You let me have the credit card without a care and I spot this hanging in a shop in a terrible neighborhood. Don't get used to it let me tell you. Once we get to the States, I plan on going on a major shopping trip. We will be going back to your place in New York, won't we?"

Was he discussing it as casually as the weather? I laughed to myself. He didn't even know, did he? "Sure, I guess we can go there. I didn't know for sure if you'd want to stay in the U.S. or what you'd thought of really." He moved past me toward the step down into the salon. When he paused and tipped his head back impishly, I might have gasped out loud though I couldn't be sure.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he said, breaking out of playful mode for a minute. Even the furrow of his brow caused me to stare. Oh Lestat, I thought, whatever did you foresee here? I wanted to laugh out loud, but I didn't want my newborn to think he'd done anything to earn my disfavor or so soon ruin the obvious good time he was having in his new form. The fact of what I saw was that had Armand been allowed to attain a few more mortal years prior to his own immortal turn, he surely would have looked just like this young man who again called my name to break the spell he unknowingly cast.

"Hey, I'm good. I'm sorry, it's just that well it's been one hell of a night you know?" at least that was no lie. "I'm just a little worn out."

"Well that's most understandable." he seemed to float down onto the old world sofa and motioned for me to join him. "Can I tell you that what you did tonight was wonderful? I mean aside from certain unavoidable aspects I might tell you it was everything I expected, but that would be a lie and you know it. No mortal could ever imagine what it's like, despite the plague of best-selling fiction to suggest otherwise."

I sat beside him on the overstuffed cushions. Could he tell how I longed to touch the sculpted curve of his lips? I chastised myself silently. "Try it out then." I said with a smile. "Look into the fireplace and think about the mortal act of starting the fire there. It will come quickly and then you will envision a roaring flame. That should do the trick." I sat back to observe and at first with comedy and selfmocking (and one abracadabra even) he tried the technique. Then, more sternly, he took a deep and now soundless breath and focused. I was powerless to look away from the features of his face highlighted only by the dim lights in the other room. Suddenly there were flames, and Tristan actually clapped for his success. "Ah see? You're a devastating success already."

"What I am… is hungry." he said as he moved closer.

I looked at the clock in the other room and sighed. There wasn't much time. "I had hoped to not rush the event or have someone here for you in advance, but I guess we're going to have to make the best of it. You know, you might want to change out of that shirt unless you plan to frame it once it's dried with blood." I watched while he picked up a duffel bag that had seen more than its fair share of miles. "You want something dark."

He settled on a long-sleeved, non-descript woven shirt and traded it for the blouson thrift shop beauty. "Better?" he asked.

"Better. Now from what I saw when I checked the map on my phone, there's a small city close to here where…"

"There's a tourist bar, I know. It's within walking distance but we'd have to walk pretty fast. I'm guessing that's not a problem?"

"No, traveling with inconceivable speed is one of the tricks, though I don't know that you'll master it right off. I appreciate your curiosity and eagerness though." I clapped him on the shoulder. "But the tourist bar isn't where we're going. I know it seems like easy pickings, but at first Tristan, you will need to kill mortals to survive. You will need their blood in copious amounts and I will even supplement it with my own. Tourists will be fine later, when you can take the infamous little drink, but for now it's far better to locate those who can disappear without being missed or causing a stir." He was running a fingertip along his fledgling fangs as he listened - at least I hoped he was listening. It was hard to tell. "There's a settlement in the opposite direction of your tourist trap, in the high walls of an old village. I'm willing to bet no one there is under the age of seventy. That will be far easier for what we need tonight. Tristan?" I touched his sleeve. "Did you hear any of that?"

"Yeah, yeah." he said as he sobered. "Old timers, right? I'll just have to think of it like fine, aged wine."

"I assure you it will be better than any you've ever tasted." I rose and pulled him to his feet. "You really are beautiful." I skipped telling him that he'd nearly caused me a mortal stroke for his appearance to Armand, but in his own right he was undeniably lovely. I couldn't believe he was mine; that I'd done this and it was all so easy. I meant that it was easy in the sense that it wasn't hard to give my heart to him as soon as I'd pulled him into the fatal embrace. Armand had never given his to me so fully and even after all these years and all the back and forth with him, I still felt that reservation and distance. In the moment I first held Tristan to me as my own, I silently promised that it would never be that way for us so long as he wanted me in his life.

**************

The roads were moonlit and I had to keep the newborn's attention off every bit of minutia along the way. He might have sat down and written a sonnet about the play of light as it revealed the crystals in a large boulder if I hadn't for a moment given him the look of fatherly impatience. As we entered the small village, he caught up with me and pushed me back against the bricks of an ancient dwelling.

"So hungry." he said, his voice rough with bloodlust.

He pressed his lips against my neck, but I caught and pushed him back. "Over there, you're in luck." I spotted an old man, hunched under the weight of two long woolen coats. He appeared to be picking up debris from the road and putting it into a canvas bag. Being from New York, I understood beggars and vagrants - hell, they're part of the reason I lived in New York, but did this chap know it was four in the morning?

"Excellent." Tristan said almost in a hiss. He stepped away and before I could offer counsel, was set upon his target.

He approached the man and all I could discern was a volley of questions and answers in rapid Italian. At first the old man appeared bothered if not angry. The young stranger was interrupting his addled routine.

The man straightened and I could see he was not as aged as I'd first thought. Tristan moved around behind him and the man struggled to keep up with his movements. He questioned the presence of another soul at this hour, and what he wanted. Oh but good Sir, you shouldn't ask such things. I stayed back in the shadows to watch the dance: Tristan stepping quickly again in front of the man, causing him to drop the bag of derelict charms. Oh, let me help you with that, and again behind, agile like a fox. The grab, the turn, ripping the scarves away from his fat neck to reveal the sweat-damp flesh. The gasp of surprise… now Tristan, now. He couldn't read my thoughts but mental words came in rapid succession as I stared with widened eyes. He had pulled the stranger into his arms and despite the man's girth and struggle, held him fast. Several choked, short screams rose into the deserted night, and then the man was still. Their bodies were nothing more than a dark shadow against the low rock wall, but I swore I could feel every inch of Tristan's body as my own while he drank. I knew the hunger of that first kill and how it felt to want to drink forever.

"Listen for it," I said as I touched him on the back gently. "Listen for the telltale wind down of death, Tristan. You must stop when you hear it knocking." I heard him moan with delirious pleasure. I could smell the blood, thick and clean. Aged or not, this gent had lived well, without a plethora of medications to keep his bones animated. It did of course stoke my own hunger. I was not yet of those who could go for decades and centuries without a kill. Luckily I wouldn't need the quantity my child needed before morning. "Tristan," I pulled back on his shoulder. "Carefully now, slower…" the man couldn't have much left to offer." Let him go." I instructed.

He lifted up and unceremoniously, the man fell from his arms to the ground. In the silvery light, I watched as the intoxication sank into every fiber. Notoriously, 'the swoon' came upon him and it was absolutely fascinating to watch. He tottered like a drunk into the middle of the road, letting it pervade each new synapse. Blood shone around his lips and on those new, lethal fangs. For a second, I thought, what have I done? There was something in that moment that mourned for his mortality, and that was another factor I hadn't considered prior to the event. He tilted his head back and spread his arms, lost to the sensations and then slowly, he came fully into himself again, looked at me and let out a sinister laugh.

"Oh Daniel, "he shook his head with amusement, "We must find more. I haven't had a decent meal in weeks and that, my friend, was only a marvelous appetizer."

I couldn't help but smile. "You have to eh, take care of him first." I gestured to the slump of overcoat on the road. He went to lift the man and could have achieved it easily, but I offered assistance and together, we slid him down the embankment behind the stone wall. Thick brambles covered the area, and it served the purpose well. Soon enough, the ravine held two more corpses, one of a woman in her fifties whose struggle resulted in Tristan delivering a less-than-pretty death, and a man in his eighties who we'd shared. As we stood there, two thieves of life, he was still dizzy with pleasure. He came into my arms and looked up as he leaned against my chest.

"Thank you." he said quietly.

"You don't have to thank me. Hell, you're a natural," I added with a laugh. "Seemed like you didn't even need me." As soon as I'd said it, I recalled that Lestat had allowed him to witness a kill. Hadn't he told me that he'd even tasted the victim's blood that night? I blinked and wondered if they had engaged in such behavior more than once. It was unthinkable to me.

"I need you." he kissed my neck. "And I'm glad you were here." Without question or hesitation, he sank his teeth into me and I winced. Needles, glass and wire danced to attention and swam from the wound and I understood the delicate mystery of pain as pleasure. Yet for the fact that he was full, he did not draw so much from hunger as from what… gratitude? I closed my eyes. He was bonding to me, drinking to consecrate his new life with the blood that had secured his eternity, the blood of all ancients, of spirits and demons, his now forever.

"Tristan," I had to force him away. "Stop now."

"Nothing so good," he mumbled.

*****************

Before light stole into the sky we were settling down. I had never been questioned when asking for such specific room accommodations, but I had definitely picked up on curiosities within several mortal minds as to why I needed the windows boarded over or triple light-blocking draperies. I supposed had I been asked outright, I would have told them I had an extreme case of photophobia, but in the end I might have simply said "Because I want it that way," with the expectation of such an abrupt answer being sufficient. In addition to the large bed against the back wall of the room, I had thought to order a smaller bed and again, was not questioned on the matter. It was there Tristan sat while I made a few phone calls to the States.

"Are we leaving tomorrow morning… er, night I guess?"

He had changed into loose sleeping pants that surely had once fit him better and a T-shirt that did nothing to flatter his frame. It was almost too bad that he'd lost so much weight from not being able to keep down his meals. Of course he was striking, but if I could have sculpted him, I might have put a bit more meat on his hips.

"I was thinking so, but that's up to you I suppose. You'll have to drink again when we rise, and we're going to have to go back to the same hunting grounds. The bodies won't likely have been found, but they'll be missed here and there so we have to be quick about it."

"Drive through." He snarked.

"Yeah, you could say that." I could hardly stop staring at him.

"So eat and run, I get it. Then what?"

"Like I said, that's pretty much up to you. I do have to go back to New York for a short eh, well something I left undone. It's kind of a favor for a friend, of a friend that can't be put off you know? But after that, I'm free to go. Understand that I've chosen to live there, but at any time I can lift anchor and be off to anywhere in the world. I'm sure it's a perk you'll come to enjoy in time."

"And of course money is no problem. I don't think I've ever read about any poor vampires living in the ghetto hand to mouth as it were." He stretched out on the bed and propped up on one arm.

"Money is never a problem. I suppose that's one thing that Armand and Marius bestowed upon me that ensured I live well, and then there's the work that I do, though that's really more of a hobby."

"Killing people - that's what you do right? Seems a logical line of work for a vampire."

"I don't kill people. I hm, well, I orchestrate events that may or may not have … calamitous resolution." I laughed softly as I settled back against the pillows. I was glad to be out of street clothes. I thought sometimes if given the choice, I'd live my life in boxer-briefs of the softest combed cotton and little else.

"Right." he said in an exaggerated drawl. "How long have you been practicing that line?"

"Long enough for it to be the truth." I answered. "The point I want you to understand is that whatever you call it, there's nothing to hold me to one particular place. I mean sure, there are people who would rather have me at the ready, but I'm not in so deep that there would be goons looking for me if I decided to leave."

"You hope. So you're telling me we can go anywhere in the world eh? Switzerland, Thailand, Alaska?"

"None of those sound appealing. What are we going to do in Alaska? Drink the blood of bears?" His laughter filled the air, the depth and volume of it startling us both a little. "But I think I'd like to stay in the States. I think anywhere but Italy really. No offense but I think our little family has had quite enough of it for a while."

He said nothing for a few minutes as he thought it over. When he looked at me, the light in his eyes was captivating. I thought again of Armand and of how Lestat damn well had to have known I'd be in just such a moment to see Tristan's resemblance to my own Maker.

"After you take care of your business in New York, I should take care of mine in New Orleans."

"I suppose that seems right. Do you think you're ready for that?"

"I've been ready since the day he pushed me out of his life. A better question is whether he's ready to deal with it and you know what? I don't fucking care either way."

I offered no comment. Tristan needed to have his say - he deserved to have his say. Given that per Lestat's arrangement here, they would be able to read one another's thoughts, I had no idea how it would go down. What I did know is that I planned to be there for the fallout. From there, everything was uncertain. I

settled back against the pillows and in the darkness we were silent.

"Tristan?" I said at last. I heard no reply but did not sense that he had been pulled down into sleep just yet. "I just wanted to tell you…" I let the words fall away. What could I say? "Glad it all went well tonight, how does it feel to be a vampire?" or maybe "It surprises me how much I like you kid, you're alright." Shit. Everything I thought of sounded to my brain like something a father from an ancient sitcom might say after a tough day with his son. Although in a way, wasn't that what I'd had?

"Daniel?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." I felt the softness of a smile in his words.

"This is only the beginning. There is so much, Tristan… but sleep now. You have all of eternity to see it." In the end, words did not fail me and with that, I closed my eyes and forgot the waking world.


	51. Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan sees through new eyes

Tristan

Awakening

He led me onto the terrace and I quietly followed the path his eyes seemed to draw across the clear night sky above when suddenly Daniel pulled me into his arms and, in the urgent shift of our bodies, I knew he could sense the swelling waves of anticipation rushing through my bloodstream. His mouth delivered a long, uncorrupted kiss and I surrendered both to the intimacy and the knowledge that mortal death was now beyond question. His impatient hunger led his lips and fangs to my neck to confirm the full imminence of the moment. Instinctively, I clutched him with both hands though I could no longer discern whether I was fighting or pulling him closer. Either way, it was a short-lived effort; the swoon seized me and soon the terrace, the sky, the stars above me dissolved into a blazing haze of broken images and ghosts.

Elio sat on his deathbed, his eyes clear with calm recognition, his lips forming words I could not decipher. I extended my hand to stroke his temple but he smiled and shook his head. There was stone under my bare feet, moist and warm. I heard Rahul’s voice calling me and when I turned I caught the dark figure of a man crouching on the ground. The man looked up and I recognized the eyes of the old Madurai temple fortune-teller frozen in mute horror. I was drowning into a dark viscous liquid as my mother gazed down at me from the balcony of our home. She lit her cigarette and disappeared. I tried to scream. No matter how hard I struggled, I just couldn’t move my lips. Lestat seized my throat and mercilessly pressed one hand onto my mouth – his eyes filled with infinite sorrow. I breathed his name out and everything came to an irreversible standstill. There was no strain. There was no fear.

“Tristan,” Daniel’s voice pulled my consciousness back. “You must tell me.”

‘Please don’t stop’ I wanted to cry out loud. Yet only a low ragged imploration escaped my lips and I desperately prayed he could hear it. “Want, with you, yes.”

Daniel smiled and lifted my body off the hardness of the terrace tiles. The robe fell from my shoulders and I shivered against him as he carried me into the warmth of the pool house. He lowered my body onto the floor, gently supporting my head as it fell to one side, and, before my mind could drift off, again he bent down on me to impart the exposed vulnerability of my throat his final assault. Pain shot through me – sharp, absolute, unendurable - it slashed like a blade carving my heart out, and I screamed unable to bear the ecstasy of it. Could Daniel see I could no longer breathe? It would have been so easy to let go and fade away. Had I any strength left, I would have laughed out loud but I was too cold, too damaged to resist the darkness that was relentlessly engulfing all my senses and I begun to descend into an endless fall. Abruptly something stirred deep within and I gasped at the low ferocious growl of my own ravenous greed as my mouth locked onto Daniel’s wrist. His blood invaded me, blinding me in an exhilarating explosion of light, reaching every cell of my withering self and almost forcing me to break into grateful sobs against his flesh. Over and over again I drank with a fury that I had never experienced before devouring at each pull the powerful gush of images that kept flashing behind my eyes – empty bottles and broken glass scattered over a dirty rug, a silver chain ending in small bottle, auburn hair and porcelain skin, delicate fingers and a cruel empty gaze. Armand. Daniel’s pulse raced and throbbed under my skin forcing me to moan at the unbearable pain he was going through – for me. His free hand glided from my chest toward the tension of my abdomen and then, with a sudden movement, he removed the cotton rope Rahul had long ago secured around my hips.

“Mortal ties are gone.” He entrusted the tattered remains into my palm and longingly pulled me against his chest - my legs around his waist and his fingers upon my cheek to appease the virulent rush of my anger. Yet there was no way I could possibly dwell in hatred as Daniel tenderly urged me to drink from the fresh cut he’d opened across his collarbone. I stroked the wound with the tip of my tongue and pushed my hips against him. All I could and longed to cling to was my need for him and for the thick flow of his blood filling my mouth. That feverish pleasure however could not ward off its own inexorable consequences and, as the first outburst of spasms slashed through me with a violence I had not truly foreseen, Daniel lifted me off the ground to carry me to the other edge of the pool and held me under the warm shower flow until all that was still human in me had left my body.

At each devastating shot convulsing through me, I withered and begged him to never let me go. He didn’t and, in the end, it happened. I let go and it was all over. The boy I used to be died in Daniel’s arms and could no longer feel the cold, the pain, nor the quiet flow of the shower above. I don’t know how long it lasted - that caliginous suspension that I fear for some might never end – but suddenly my eyes were wide open andI gasped and drew in my first immortal breath. When I turned my gaze around I found that the entire room had changed. I could discern the floating dance of every single particle in the air -Buon Dio, I could almost hear the sound of them. The shadows had receded revealing an entire pulsating universe of shimmering details, shades and forms. I then heard Daniel calling my name and I slowly turned my head to look at him. My fingers ventured along the curve of his cheek and I found myself falling in love with the intricate perfection they discovered. He gave me a knowing smile and I could finally see the two of us for what we now were: One.

************

As soon as we entered the hill village’s gate, the throbbing pulse of countless mortal hearts flooded me and, if I concentrated deeply enough, I could almost envision the occupants of the buildings all around us dreaming in the precarious safety of their beds. More unequivocally than any visualization my new powers could grant, the thick scent of their blood made me moan with enraptured agony. I placed one hand on the wall on my left trying to steady my feet and fend the dizziness off my starving senses.

“You okay?” I felt Daniel’s hand promptly closing around my upper arm. “I guess that's a stupid question right?”

It took me a minute to eventually clear my vision and reassure him that yes, all I could think of was to butcher the whole village but, other than that, I’d never felt so good in my entire life. He gave me a long condoling look and went on to resume our promenade. But I was utterly lost to the enamored contemplation of the crumbling beauty of the Virgin Mary’s sad expression frozen on the niche fresco above me and he had to turn back and, possibly for the tenth time that night, wait until I came back to my senses again.

“Look,” Daniel laughed. “No matter how sympathetic I am with what’s going on in that newborn vampire head of yours right now, don’t ever think I will just let you fall in love with every single brick on our way to your first victim.”

I brushed my fingers over the uneven roughness of the wall – letting them explore the moist smoothness of the dark moss growing between the cracks, and spoke softly. “Was it like this on your first night as an immortal?”

“Not really,” he conceded. “But I know what it means to suddenly be able to embrace the world in all its complexity and contradictions. At first it might be just too much handle but eventually you’ll learn to filter out the superfluous stuff. If you want to that is - and you'll want to; you can't have all the mental windows and doors open for too long or you hm, well, you know," he looked away, lost to some memory I wasn't perceiving in my own overloaded state. "Just don’t get too addicted to the initial blast, hm? _”_

“Addicted, precisely. It’s like being gloriously high on LSD, you know - where each pathway of your brain feels triggered, enhanced, connected…” I said. “Yet this is no artificial acid-induced trip going to wane into some burnt brain-cells paranoid depression, is it? This is forever. God, I swear I could just spend eternity like this, losing myself in perpetual wonder and adoration.”

“Well, that’s an interesting parallel. Acid wasn't my mortal drug of choice, but from the few times I did indulge, I'll give you credit for the comparison,” Daniel shrugged. “And you’re welcome to exercise immortality as you wish, but, as I’m sure your thirst is already telling you, you’ll still need to fuel this psychedelic disposition of yours,

Tristan. In other words, hunting first, contemplation later.”

“Psychedelic disposition,” I looked at him. “You’re just pulling my leg.”

“Out of brotherly affection only.”

I shook my head with a short laugh and followed him into the dark alley in front of us. Daniel was right and no matter how devastatingly each detail, structure and element I set eyes upon irremediably seduced me –the dry rustle of the dead leaves upon the cobblestones, the mortal girl stirring in her sleep beyond the ground floor window a few meters ahead or the slow fluid gait of the stray cat crossing our path- there was nothing I craved more furiously than quenching the terrible hunger in me. I swallowed hard and abruptly pushed Daniel up against the rotting bricks of a once opulent building.

“So hungry.” I hissed and pulled the shirt collar away from the inviting skin underneath.

Daniel pushed me away gently and directed my attention to the sudden movement behind the corner. The moment my eyes spotted the dark hunched figure of the man far too busy harvesting the garbage to notice our presence, I felt all the muscles in my body tense up and, before Daniel could articulate another word, I was already on my target. The man lifted his liquid eyes from the ground and as soon as I smiled at him he sputtered a streak of incoherent questions – what was I doing there at that hour? What did I want and did I maybe have some cash to devolve to his cause. I politely replied to his inquiry and kept gliding out of his range, forcing him to follow my trajectory, until he tripped dropping the treasured greasy bag from his back and I seized the opportunity without delay. I will never forget the gushing primordial exhilaration I savored the moment my arms fastened around him – the confusion in his gaze, the halfmuttered curse, the helpless struggle and then, viscous and sweet, the electricity of fear pulsing under the filthy layers of his clothes. I wanted him to look at me and see what I was. I wanted to taste it all.

“Mine…” I whispered upon the sweaty warmth of his neck and claimed his surrender with all my passion. The man stiffened and let out several choked screams, his heart furiously pumping thick gushes of blood against my lips. No matter how indigent my man was, the taste of him was nothing short of magnificent and, as I ravaged his life breath, his mind unfolded like the most exquisite illustrated codex, revealing vibrant images of a blissful childhood spent under the Apulian sun, the gold of the wheat fields, the benevolent hands of an elderly man – his grandfather. I eagerly crushed him to my chest, admiring the enchanting grace of a dark-haired beauty - bare feet dancing on the red soil, the compelling pulse of a tambourine, deep black smiling eyes darting under the shade of the olive trees – his first love.

Then something changed. The delicious pulse weakened, his struggle and the memories ceased to dance and seduce my hunger.

“Listen for it,” Daniel came behind and touched me. “Listen for the telltale wind down of death, Tristan. You must stop when you hear it knocking.”

Ah but I didn’t want to let my man go and I kept indulging until my love for him corrupted into soaring waves of repulsion. Before I could recover from the feverish state of euphoria, I heard a dull thud and gazed down at the hollow heap of clothes and grey hair lying at my feet. So this was death - ecstasy followed by a foul aftertaste upon the lips, I thought as the man’s blood coursed through my body placating my hunger and making my limbs shiver with rampant unadulterated pleasure. It didn’t last though and as soon as I turned to Daniel we both knew it would have taken more than that to satiate my newborn lust. I closed my eyes and lingered in that state of sublime oblivion until instinct compelled me to stir and trace the scent of another mortal. We walked up to an old wooden door and, under Daniel’s directions, I focused on the rusty lock until it surrendered to my command.

“After you.” he gestured with a smile and followed me inside.

I stepped on the terracotta tiles and paused only for a moment to take in as many details as possible – the old fashioned furniture, the white lace curtains at the windows, the embers in the narrow fireplace in the corner. Then I saw her.

“Don’t be afraid, Agata.” I took a step closer.

“Why do you know my name, who are you…”

“It doesn’t really matter, you see.” I studied the fine map of her face.

She receded and pulled the shawl over her shoulders. “Take the silverware, it’s in the cupboard. Take everything you want but please don’t hurt me.”

I stared at her with mild but factual indignation; then again how could I have really blamed her misjudgment? As I looked down into her eyes I was almost tempted to rectify that, Signora mia, we were no burglars; and yet, yes, thieves we were and I chose to spare her from any further agony letting the sharpness of my fangs deliver the message for me. She gasped and clutched her hands around my throat unable to process the horror of the assault. I tightened my fist around the curly mass of her loose hair and pulled the woman’s head back shaking against her breasts at the pleasure her terror dispensed in all its crimson eruption. Her blood tasted of years of abnegation, indefatigable labor and the ephemeral joy her ungrateful progeny had granted. I was beginning to enjoy this woman’s misery when her desperate scream forced me to suspend the banquet and silence her with the slow brush of my thumb across her lips.

“Don’t fight me,” I whispered. “The time of all your empty, unsung struggles is over. Let me take the pain away.” My hand opened in a heartfelt caress over the tears running down her face.

“My children… they need me!” her voice only a feeble lament.

“Ah but that’s an overused lie. It’s been so long since their last visit,” I shook my head. “No one needs you anymore - and you know it, don’t you, Agata?”

“Liar!” she dug her nails down my left cheek and tried to push me away.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” I took the time to savor her expression metamorphose from anger to panic-stricken despair the moment the deep lacerations she’d just inflicted started to heal under her gaze. I angrily ripped the shawl off her throat and bent down to gash the throbbing flesh from side to side welcoming the violent spatter of her blood upon my face with a long ecstatic moan. Her hands frantically clawed at me and finally dropped down the sides of her body. As we left the place, Daniel turned off the light and closed the door behind us.

“I know,” I said perhaps a bit too sharply. “That wasn’t necessary.”

He didn’t reply straight away and merely stared off into the darkness of the alley in front of him as we carried the body toward the ravine we’d elected earlier to dispose my first victim. “Maybe it was.” he shrugged. “Still, that was pretty over the top.”

“I’ll take this as a compliment.” I said pushing the limp corpse over the wall and down into the thick vegetation below.

“Take it as you wish. Kill as you wish, Tristan. Just try not to make a mess next time, okay?”

I leaned against the stone wall giving my maker an impish glance and then gestured with a little nod to the elderly gentleman across the square pavement marking his slow careful steps with the aid of walking stick.

“I say practice makes perfect.”

“Christ, you’re insatiable.”

“Hey, I’m happy to share.”

“How very generous of you,” Daniel examined our candidate and arched his brow. “Just spare everyone the gory shit this time, yes? It doesn’t have to be something out of a Tarantino film.”

*************

As we drifted under the shadows of a rotting tuff stone archway, Daniel closed one hand around my wrist and declared our hunting spree was over. I tried to voice a mild protest – or even call his attention upon the lovely pair of men walking sluggishly towards the car park, but the look in his eyes instantly put me in my place.

“I know the first night you feel like you could drink forever, but safety is always more important than the thirst." he looked at me in a way that said -remember that- then continued, “Stand still for a moment and you'll be able to sense the time. You'll feel the light just below the horizon. I can't explain it, but you'll feel it.”

I closed my eyes and immediately sensed it under the skin – the swelling weakness, so similar to the languor I’d seen blurring Lestat’s eyes at the end of our nights.

Dawn could not be more than an hour away and the bleeding sky above already heralded the proximity of its advent. “I can somehow smell it,” I confirmed. “I suppose we could call it a night. After all three corpses in a row seem more than enough for a debut, sì?” I smiled at him.

“You can smell dawn coming?” he chuckled. “More psychedelic perceptions hm? Well I’d say you gave an outstanding performance,” Daniel snorted and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s take you home, wonder boy, before your ego burst into the sun, hm?”

Before the receding streaks of indigo turned into pale orange over the rolling hills beyond the windows of the villa, the ruined clothes we’d been wearing all night along lay together inside a conveniently sealed plastic bag at the bottom of Daniel’s suitcase ready for shipment. I slid into a loose pair of pants I’d bargained for a good twenty minutes on the square market in Ravello only a few weeks ago and, as I retrieved a clean T-shirt from my bag, my fingers got tangled in the remains of Rahul’s rope. I walked away from the window, twiddling the tattered object through my fingers, and then, standing in front of the large fireplace, I silently mourned a little for all that had died that night. The flames crackled their invitation and I opened my palm watching the rope – my mortal ties, as Daniel had adduced only a few hours ago – fall into their embrace and languidly contort into nothingness.

“Don’t worry, this is not going to degenerate into some tardive and at this stage pointless repentance scene.” I sighed sensing his presence on the doorway.

“The thought never crossed my mind,” he said. “I watched you in action tonight and you just didn’t strike me as the reluctant type. I know you enjoyed every minute of it.”

I turned to look at him but all the witty comments I was planning to articulate just died away as I took all the deliberate time to absorb the details of him as he walked toward me wearing nothing but a pair of cotton boxer-briefs.

“What was the wording you used earlier? Ah yes, I’m a natural, right?” I said stressing the final part of the statement in a low whisper. “Who knows, perhaps I was a vampire in some previous life.

That would explain a lot.”

“I guess it would, although I’m not sure I believe this stuff.” Daniel gave me a cynical glare and defiantly opened his arms. “Listen, you have all eternity to ruminate over ‘your own mystery’, but right now I say you should switch off that overloaded brain of yours and do as I say: bedtime.”

I followed him to the bedroom and sat down on the smaller bed, letting my fingers linger over the linen bedspread and remembering the boy who, just the night before, had slept there. I placed my hand on the pillow where his head had rested.

“You know, I’m glad we don’t have to creep into a pair of twin coffins.” I shrugged.

He turned and after a moment of consideration, gave me a generally amused look. Daniel seemed somehow to have that spark, that air of constant underlying humor and I was thankful for it after everything.

"Me too," he said. "But I hate enclosed spaces as a rule. Always have."

I laughed and nodded in total agreement. “Christ, even now I loathe the thought of my mortal body rotting away inside one of those things.”

“It's not a very sexy image, is it?” Daniel rolled his eyes at me. “So what was your original plan, cremation?”

“Much to the Pope’s grief, absolutely.”

“Well, here’s the good news: you no longer need to worry about the Pope or your mortal corpse.” he studied me for a minute before grabbing the mobile phone from the bedside table and set to make some calls. Some might have thought the tone with which he delivered those words was dismissive or sarcastic, but again I heard in them that underlying wit and wondered if maybe it was a big part of why he'd survived and in the end, been able to escape into a relatively normal life.

That was something we seemed to have in common, for my own often acerbic and dark humor had often proved to save me in situations that would have otherwise successfully crushed my heart into a pulp. For the moment all my natural defenses had been obliterated by this new life I'd been given, but perhaps in the end would carry me along in the same fashion

Lulled by the still darkness of the room, we quietly discussed the imminent journey that would have taken us to New York and, more importantly, about my determination to face Lestat in New Orleans soon after that. As my thoughts and emotions drifted away and my limbs grew heavier, I heard Daniel speaking my name. I turned my head on the pillow waiting for him to voice his thoughts and found myself longing for his touch in a way I could not fully unravel.

“Daniel?” I then said in a tentative whisper.

“Yeah? I thought you were asleep.”

The sound of his voice was warm and genuine and I couldn’t help thinking how very different he was from all that I’d known as far as my concept of immortals was concerned. I closed my eyes and felt the tension in my jaw dissolve into the softness of a genuine smile.

“Thank you.” I finally breathed out.

He stirred in his bed and hesitated only for a moment before breaking the silence. “This is only the beginning. There is so much,

Tristan… but sleep now. You have all of eternity to see it.”

I should have just listened to him and embrace the irresistible torpor expanding throughout my senses; yet all I could think of was to crawl under the sheets with him to explore and pursue the implications of his words and actions. I wanted to know everything about him, I wanted to see Armand through Daniel’s scars –and forget my own- yet an abyssal sleep claimed me at last. The night was over and eternity had just started.


	52. Exhausted Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David and his personal valet, Charles, have a discussion on a flight back to New Orleans.

David

Exhausted Flight

“Sir, if I may be so bold to inquire, are you sure you are quite all right?” Charles disturbed me from my reverie, scrutinizing me keenly. He was seated across from me in the private jet as we made our way back across the Atlantic. Traveling from east to west was far easier on a vampire, and we had much more leisure time. His mind was attentive to pick up any thoughts I would have projected to him, but I had been keeping my mind under tight wraps since our last night in Pompeii. As an Englishman, I am not given to displays of emotions. The fact that my insides were positively raw with pain and anger, self-mortification and regret, veritably insured that I would come across as uncommunicative. Add to that the continual dreams I was having of Enigma, and there was little wonder for Charles’ concern.

              I forced a tight smile. “I am as well as I can be, Charles. Please be at ease.”

           He looked at me skeptically, arching one eyebrow _. I know that something is terribly wrong. Brian hasn’t returned my calls, either, which is highly unusual. I respect your privacy, David, but you are insane if you think I can be ‘at ease,’_ came his thoughts.

           I closed my eyes, contemplating again the possibility of just going to ground. I’ve always maintained that I didn’t have the longevity for immortality. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending upon one’s perspective) Lestat had insured that I could not easily be destroyed, most especially by my own devices. Hence, my choices were either to go to ground or to beg Maharet to release me from this existence. However, I did not believe either to be a viable option. I wasn’t sure that she or any other sufficiently powerful vampire could be persuaded to do the honors.

           This led me once again to thoughts of Enigma. I believed he was still in existence, for the simple reason that I had rendered him as strong as I was able. He would also have difficulty destroying himself, and I had to believe that the word would have been passed to me if another vampire had put an end to him.

The dream this past daytime, which I had spent at Talbot Manor, was of my Christmas of misery. It was after I had inflicted the most grievous of the damage to our relationship, and I had been terrified at that time that he had found a way to destroy himself.  

I had fallen asleep on the heated tiled floor of the elaborately decorated grand ballroom in the house we shared with Brent and Kyle. In my dream, instead of Kyle approaching me to sympathize and comfort, Enigma came, trailing bloody footprints. He was the one who seated himself cross-legged at my head, brushing my hair from my brow. I had looked into his face, which bore the same expression of weariness and hopelessness that Louis had demonstrated when he was chastising me about Petronia; but, like Louis, his voice was infused with anger and irritation. “Why are you so bloody self-righteous, Da?” he had asked. “What makes you think that you can do no wrong? You are the most self-absorbed of us all. You were made in Lestat’s image. You are no better than he is. You must have it your way, all the time.”

“No, darling!” I had protested, but I couldn’t rise, couldn’t move from my prone position on the floor. “I never meant to hurt you! I never meant to hurt

Louis! This is not what I wanted at all!”

“And is that not exactly what Lestat says about Tristan: ‘I never meant to hurt you, I never meant to hurt Louis, this is not what I wanted at all’?” He had sighed.  

I had wept in my dream as I had wept that night on those heated tiles, professing my love to an empty room after dream Enigma had abruptly disappeared, leaving only red shining footprints as evidence. I awoke with my pillow soaked in bloody tears.

 _What did M. de Lioncourt do, David?_ came the unspoken accusation from the seat across from me in the jet’s cabin.

I sighed and opened my eyes to Charles’ intense gaze. “Nothing more or less than what he usually does, Charles. He has elected to initiate another into our immortal ranks, only he does not want to be the one to perform the deed.”

In response to Charles’ widening eyes and unspoken question, I quirked my lips. “No, Charles. Neither I nor Louis have made another fledgling. Daniel Molloy apparently will have that dubious honor if all goes according to Lestat’s plan.”

I closed my eyes again, listening to Charles’ mental questions, but choosing to answer aloud lest in projecting my thoughts I revealed more than I was ready to admit. “Lestat was in France, the last I knew. Louis is also in France, but he is not with him. I imagine the reason you haven’t heard from Brian is because Brian is preparing for Louis’ return to New Orleans. He . . . Louis, that is, will be separating from Lestat, though I know none of those details.” I listened to another barrage of unspoken questions. “I haven’t the slightest idea whether this new vampire is going to move in with Lestat; although if he does, both you and I may remove ourselves from New Orleans for some extended time.” I sighed again and chuckled mirthlessly. “No, love, not because he will be forcing us to leave. I . . . ,” but here I stopped.  

How could I possibly confess how angry I was? Then, to complicate matters, how could I express that Enigma had pointed out how hypocritical I was to be so angry at Lestat when I had done almost the same thing to him as Lestat had done to Louis? Try as I might, I simply couldn’t muster the justification that at least I had not paraded my other lovers before Enigma because I had seen in Tristan’s thoughts insane jealousy and awe when he came face to face with Louis. Whatever Lestat had promised Tristan in their intimacies, Tristan knew beyond doubt that Louis was Lestat’s first love. My other lover had not even known of Enigma, so thoroughly had I disregarded him.

Again, I pondered the logistics of simply going to ground, only to be bombarded by Charles’ unspoken questions. I swallowed and again opened my eyes, determined that I would give him the honor of responding to his queries. “It is complicated, love. I am angry at Lestat, but I am equally or exceedingly angry at myself. I inadvertently hurt Louis because of my, ah, callousness brought about by my feelings toward Lestat’s actions.”

A thought suddenly occurred to me, and I frowned as I peered into Charles’ pale green eyes. “Have you heard from Enigma, by any chance? Have you heard anything from Brent or Kyle?”

“No, sir,” he answered verbally, meeting my gaze without guile. “Is there any particular reason you would inquire? Shall I call Mr. Durande and Mr.

McIntyre to ascertain whether or not he has contacted them?”

I sighed again, letting my brow smooth. “No, Charles. He has simply been on my mind lately. Most likely because of this matter with Lestat and Tristan. Tristan La Roche is the name of Lestat’s latest ‘project’,” I added by way of explanation. “He reminds me greatly of an older Armand, to be truthful.” I paused as I contemplated the tormented lad I had almost killed. “I would not at all be surprised to see him in New Orleans at some point. Please remember my admonition to you about vampires as a general rule, love.” I gave a tight smile. “I can’t imagine that he would have reason to prey upon you; but if he should desire you, I can’t see Lestat denying him just because it would break trust with me.”

To his credit, Charles’ expression was as serious as death when he responded, “I shall be sure not to provide any vampire the least provocation, sir.” I nodded solemnly, then closed my eyes again.  

“What of M. de Pointe du Lac?”

“What about him, love?”

 _Is he . . ._ and here, Charles’ thoughts became jumbled, as human thoughts so often are when contemplating those matters that are not easily understood. He was wondering if Louis was as angry and upset as I was, then he began chastising himself because he knew Louis most obviously had cause to be even more angry and upset. He wanted to know the details of Louis’ and Brian’s plans, then remembered that I had already told him that I did not know anything more. He wanted to know the implications of Louis’ leaving Lestat, then chastised himself at acting like a child of divorcing parents. All of these thoughts were topped with a healthy dose of wondering why it should even matter to him as long as all was well with me, only to come back to reminding himself that all was NOT well with me.

“Charles, forgive me. I fear I am simply exhausted with this entire matter. I will be forthcoming with you about all things in due time, but I simply haven’t the wherewithal to provide any additional explanations right now.  

“How much longer until we arrive in New Orleans?” I changed the subject abruptly.

“Another two hours, sir,” he answered, chagrined at my words.

“You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, love,” I assured him, though I simply couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes. “I have brought this entirely upon myself . . . whether because of the events of the last week or so or because of ‘cosmic karma,’ as they say. Please know that you do not bear any of the responsibility for what I am enduring at this point. You can most help me by merely doing all that you do best.” _Taking care of me,_ I added mentally.  

He was silent, and his thoughts became quiet and calm. I hadn’t lied to him: I truly was exhausted. The hum of the engines lulled me into mortal sleep for the remainder of the flight.


	53. Turn The Page

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis comes to a new understanding; one that's been a long time coming.

Louis

Turn the Page

I’d had every intention of returning to the townhouse on Royal Street and staying there; I’d lived there for many years and I didn’t see any reason why I should not go on living there—Lestat hadn’t lived there for several years now and if he chose to stay in New Orleans for any amount of time, there were other properties he could avail himself of. It was on the drive from the airport to the Quarter where I began to have second thoughts. Brian had been driving in silence, somewhat stunned after I’d explained my decision to part with Lestat. He'd had questions, but withheld them with his usual respect for my privacy, yet his concern and his sorrow for me came through clearly. It put me in the bizarre position of laying a comforting hand on his arm.

“This isn’t right,”hesaid, tightening his hands on the steering wheel. “This isn’t what you really want, is it?”

“It isn’t always about what I want, is it? He’s been telling me what he wants for long years—he just hasn’t said it in so many words.”

“So what the hell was that whole wedding all about?” His voice shook and I realized that he was close to tears.

“A purely romantic gesture. He’s fond of them."

“He could have sent you roses, for fuck’s sake,” he growled before lapsing into morose silence.

After a few minutes had passed, I spoke again. “Brian—the house by the park. It’s finished, yes?”

“Yes, it’s done. Just some work left on the landscaping, mainly.”

“Good. We'll stop and get that large dog of yours. I’ll go in and pack some things that I want to bring with me. Perhaps you would be kind enough to come tomorrow and move a few things for me?”

“Yeah, of course.” he said, once again taken aback. “But there’s no furniture there, Louis. A couple of lawn chairs and porch furniture, but that’s all.”

Of course there wasn’t. Why would there be? I looked at him. “Would you mind very much then if I stayed in your house for the day?”

His answer was a massive roll of his eyes. “What a question. Like I would say no? I can order some furniture in the morning and see if we can’t get at least some things out there tomorrow. Otherwise we can stay over on Madison if you would rather not stay here.”

Murphy, the dog I mentioned, was on the other side of the wall sounding deep canine greetings and bustling out to the drive as soon as Brian opened the heavy cypress door. A mannerly beast, he resisted the instinct to jump and Brian dropped to one knee rubbing Murphy’s large head and allowing him a few moments of ecstatic licking. The dog then turned his attention to me, his tail rotating in pleased circles as he licked my fingers.

“He’ll like living by the park,”I said to Brian as we went through the doorway.

“No doubt,” Brian said. “What about you? Will you like living by the park? God, I still can’t believe this is happening. When is Lestat coming back? Have you even told him yet?”

“As you can imagine, there was not a lot of time for discussion and Lestat went off to London before I had much of a chance to say anything. It went downhill from there, I can assure you,” I said, thinking of David and the encounters with Petronia.

“London. Right. Jesus Christ,” he saidheavily. “And Danielagreed to what he wanted? Seriously, this is so majorly fucked up.”

“As yousay,” I followed him up the steps and into his house. “And I don’t know when Lestat will be back or even if he’s planning on coming back at all.”

He looked at me, stricken. “I’m sorry. I’ll just shut up, okay?”

I went to him then, and took him into a strong embrace. “Of course you will not shut up. I’ve put I you in the middle of this and you have questions. I will answer them all, I promise you, but not tonight, _mon cher_. I am weary from thinking about it.”

+++++

The house on Exposition Drive was an older modified Victorian on the edge of Audubon Park. Brian had bought it in order to renovate it, something that gave him a good deal of enjoyment with the challenges such a project offered as well as the satisfaction he gained from the work he’d learned to do himself. He’d undertaken several renovations like this before and usually turned the properties over at a tidy profit, but as work progressed he’d held back from putting it on the market. Instead, he attended to working the grounds with the help of a landscaping crew, leaving some of the mature plantings and removing others. The new plantings gave the house a cleaner, fresher appearance, or so he’d told me: I had not had the chance to see it before I’d left for Italy. The house was smaller than some of the manses that lined the park, but it had good bones and the view from the front verandah was lovely—stately oaks with the park path winding through them and beyond the trees a glimmer of the lagoon with little Bird Island in the center, home to all manner of aquatic fowl.

What had been a somewhat rundown house was now a jewel with its fresh paint, the verandah restored with all the flourishes; slender, turned spindles supporting the rails and decorating the line of the roof. The steps had been made elegant with container plantings of flowers and vines and the addition of a lovely iron chandelier offset by a ceiling of pale blue… haint blue as they call it here in Louisiana. The plaster ceiling medallions and decorative moldings and cornices within had been meticulously restored and flooring had been replaced with wide, polished cypress boards; Brian had salvaged them from an old plantation house that had not survived the passage of years. He’d put the finishing touches on the house, painting walls in hues that brought out the best of the rooms and the light that would flood them or the shadows that graced them; he had a talent for such things.

He’d managed to have bedroom furniture delivered and window treatments installed, most importantly blackout shades and heavy drapes for the master bedroom which would do until further arrangements could be seen to. “We should have the rest by the end of the week. I figured you could choose the artwork once everything else is brought in.” He told me as we walked through the first floor – he’d reconfigured the rooms with an open floor plan that lent a spacious feel to what had been somewhat claustrophobic rooms to begin with. “I’ve got Murphy all set up in the sun porch at the back of the house for right now. He’s got plenty of room and there’s a dog door so he can go out to the back yard whenever he wants to. Come on…I’ll show you the upstairs."

There were three bedrooms, but he’d done up one of the rooms as an office for me should I need it. He’d brought most of my clothes and they hung in the large closet inperfect order, shoes on their shelves and the drawers no doubt also neatly stowed with socks and t-shirts and other such things. “You managed a lot in one day. Did you get any sleep at all?”

“Well, notmuch,” he admitted. “I know you wanted to get moved over here sooner than later.” I put my head into the smaller bedroom where he’d put some of his own things. “I wasn’t sure if you were up for company,” he said with a trace of awkwardness that he never showed before.

“Things have changed a great deal in some ways, Brian, but we have had an established routine for several years now, yes?”

He smiled, then but he still looked troubled. “Well, I know how I feel, but I would understand, you know…”

“I know you would; I should like it of all things if you would cease worrying about me and perhaps gave a little thought toward your own feelings.”

+++++

The night Lestat returned to New Orleans also happened to be the night I’d made the decision to go back to the townhouse to pick up a few personal items. In spite of what I’d said to Brian, I knew he would return at some point, though I had not thought it would be quite so soon. I did not allow myself to think much further than that - whatever had happened between him and Tristan at this point was none of my business.

It was a sultry evening, warm for April and I’d taken the streetcar to the Quarter, stepping off on Canal Street to move through the Friday night throng on lower Royal Street. The street was quieter the further up I went and it felt good to be walking the familiar path past familiar storefronts and door steps and restaurants. The good feeling drained away when I was a block or so from the townhouse and I saw the light streaming from the second floor windows. There was no point in putting off the inevitable – Lestat was there and it was time to face him.

He heard me at the front door of course and I could see his shadow near the top of the curved staircase, moving lightly with a dancer’s grace to the end of the baluster. “Louis? I wondered where you were,” he said as I moved quickly up the steps. The sound of his voice, speaking as though this were just another night tore my heart in two and that pain was followed by dizzying anger. He came into view and the pain welled up again. He gave me a tentative smile.

“I was just about to call you and here you are, looking splendid I might add. Did you arrange for a spring cleaning in the short while you've been back? I hardly think it was necessary - we weren't away for very long. Still it's a nice thing, I suppose. A clean start? I have to appreciate the metaphor." I pushed past him, moving my shoulder to one side when he reached for me.

“Can you be this obtuse? Of course there has been no spring cleaning. I’ve moved my things out…some of them, anyway. Do you want to know why, Lestat? Of course you do. I suppose it must be explained that I have decided that I have had enough of being the default punch. You might be happy to know that I concede you were correct…I should have left you long ago. By the way, how is Tristan? Joined the ranks of the undead yet or has the happy occasion yet to occur?” I dropped the sarcasm and turned to look at him. “You are a selfish, vicious creature to come here and speak to me as though nothing has happened,” I said in a low voice.

Seeing him again---it was much more difficult than when I had gone over this scenario in my mind. I felt every molecule of my body, every fiber of my soul yearning toward him. I used harsh words to drive him back from me lest my treacherous emotions betray me into another round of insanity.

"You're leaving? Ah, no, you've left already. I see then. You know that might not be a bad thing, Louis. I'm sure you came back here with the expectation - hell, you're expecting even now that I'll behave in the same old way and beg you to stay, to tell you I'll make it up to you and change for the better like I've done how many times now? You would tell me and anyone who'd listen that you don't want things to go that way, but there's some part of you that for the routine, does want it, and you're a liar if you say differently."

“You assume far too much. You always have, though I suppose much of that I brought upon myself. I haven't come to argue nor have I come with any expectations; far from it. I came to give you the courtesy of a face-to-face explanation. If I wanted things to continue as they have for so long, why then would I leave? And I _don’t_ lie to you, Lestat.”

He gave a derisive snort and his eyes narrowed. “I also know you better than anyone. Assumptions come about for a reason. So far as whether Tristan has become immortal, I would say no it has not happened as of yet. Did you want a telegram when I become aware of the matter?"

“I would have thought you would be more interested in the outcome of the grand plan you have for your pretty new lover. I suppose I will find out through the grapevine, as they say.”

“Well, I’m _not_ interested. And let me tell you something, whether you choose to believe it or not…”

I interrupted him by shouldering past him again and even that very brief contact was branched lightning, scorching its way through my limbs. I could smell his blood, hear his heart and I felt a brief but debilitating weakness as he continued. “The question of whether or not I intended for any of this to happen is a moot point also. You think that when Tristan comes here - and make no mistake that he will - I'm going to be so overcome that I'll run off with him or hey, why not ask him to move in here now? But I never had that in mind, nor will I do it now. You won't believe me, so go on then and seek your consolation with Brian. Maybe you can work on figuring out why, if I'm so callous and intolerable you're only leaving me now, _mon petit homme pathetique_? “

“You haven't been here for going on four years—why should you care who I might find some consolation with? You may call me pathetic or name me victim or anything else you like. I don’t need to work on figuring it out. Whatever skein that bound us together has completely unraveled—your utter callousness more than proves it. You will seek him out. A month a year, ten---you wanted him and you got him on your terms and as soon as the furor dies down you’ll go to him or he will come looking for you. I’m a fool for you, I freely admit that, but I am not brain dead. Who is lying now, Lestat? You could have spoken to me at any time, but you waited until, as you put it, things had gone too far. If you wish to continue throwing insults at me, why, then by all means do so.”

He erupted into sneering laughter. “So, if I had called you or come home and said, ‘Oh by the way, remember Tristan? Well I've had so much sex with him and in the process given him so much of my blood that he might be suffering a bit of transubstantiation.’ You'd have been fine with that? I can't even try to insult you. The thought that you want me to believe you'd have accepted it at any point is an insult in itself!”

I began to feel anger again and I welcomed it; anything was better than the despairing weakness that had begun to overtake me. “You could have told me the truth without the sarcasm. Would I have accepted it? Not willingly, but come now…it was not as though _I_ had any sort of choice in the matter. You wanted him and you set about taking him. I saw his mind and I can't think that you had no idea at all what was happening to him.

I also saw you showing him specific vampire...tactics, I suppose you could say. In that lovely church. You lie to yourself, you lie to me. I am taking your oft-given advice and moving on with my life. Having a fling, however you wish to name it.”

“I'm sure Brian is overjoyed. Maybe you could put him in the same predicament.”

I glared at him. “Maybe I will.”

“You're amusing in your own right Louis, you really are. You know, it probably is a very good thing you can't read my thoughts.”

I stared at him unbelievingly. “You would say that next, of course. Lash out at me in the worst way using what I have said to you in intimacy and with love to flay me now. Do you even know what you want? Or is it whatever or whomever you don't have at any given moment?”

“If I'm such an avid liar, what good would it do to tell you what I want?”

I opened the armoire and pulled out a hinged wooden box from the topmost shelf. “What good indeed?” I muttered. I passed him again, this time managing not to come into contact with him and, gathering what tattered scraps of dignity left to me close about me, I left the house that had for so long been our home.

No streetcar on the way back – I did it the vampire way, blurring past people and cars with unnatural speed until I made it to the park, standing beneath one of the large oaks in front of my newest abode. The lights were on downstairs and there was movement at the back of the house—Brian fixing himself something to eat, no doubt. I let myself sink to the ground and I heard the minute creaking of the old wooden box clutched beneath my arm. The box contained Lestat’s letters, all of them; I hadn’t wanted to leave them behind, worried that he might destroy them in the heat of his defensive, outraged anger.

My own anger had gone to cold ashes and all I could think was that I had abandoned him and he could now once again question my loyalty as he questioned everyone’s. I had fought it, clinging to him for as long as I could; I knew all too well the injury I had inflicted upon him time and again…upon both of us. I had vowed not to injure him thus again, but here it was and Iwas walking away from him.

Here’s the thing though…he always gets what he wants; perhaps this time he wanted to drive me away so he would no longer have to tell me what it was that he was looking for I rose heavily to my feet. It is much simpler than that, I thought distantly. He’s finally grown weary of my smothering need for him, my ostentatious pressing of truthfulness. I had always been as truthful with him as I knew how, but had I been truthful with myself? Not so much.

He could say what he liked about consolation and moving on and I could try to find those things, but he is missing from me now and as much as dear Brian will try and as much as I would like to feel for him more than I do, any consolation to be had will be scant.

 _L’homme pathetique_ indeed.


	54. Idle Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David's quiet is disrupted when his Maker storms into the house. Lestat breaks an apple and saunters off.

David

Idle Hours

“You knew this!” Lestat appeared in the doorway of my study, Charles ascending the stairs at a quick mortal pace.  

           “I’m sorry, sir, but M. de Lioncourt . . . ,” Charles said breathlessly as he appeared behind him.

           I waved dismissively. “It’s quite all right, Charles. I was, ah, expecting Lestat” _sooner or later_ , I added mentally. He gave a short bow and disappeared while Lestat gazed imperiously at me, his mouth set cruelly. “Well, good evening to you, as well, love. So nice of you to visit.”

           “Don’t give me that bullshit! Is this some little scheme you two concocted to try to put me in my place?” He swept into the room to glare down at me as I sat at my desk. “’Oh, poor, poor Louis!’ Is that what you think? Was it you who put it in his head to move into a cozy little love nest with Brian so he could be treated in a manner in which he ‘deserved’? By a mortal, no less! Am I supposed to appreciate the irony? Well, fuck you both!”

           I sighed softly as I met his angry stare. It was providential that my mind is forever closed to him, because I contemplated the retort, “No, apparently you do not care to fuck either of us, at least not in any desirable way.” Instead, I waited to ascertain that he was not going to continue his tirade before I responded. After a moment, I spoke quietly, “What I think matters not one iota, love, as well you know. I had no part in Louis’ decision, just as I had no part in yours. Anything I know of Louis’ business is only what he has chosen to tell me. And as always has been his wont, he remains a private man.”

           Lestat gave a snort and turned away. He did not speak for some time, instead examining the minutia of my bookshelves. I had time to consider the silence of the maker/fledgling minds and ponder whether or not Tristan had been turned. If I had so desired, I suppose I could have reached out with the mind gift to see for myself. Of course, I had no real desire.

           “If you had met him, David, you wouldn’t blame me,” he said at last, studying a ruby lead crystal apple, which caught the light in a most delightful manner. Naturally, I wasn’t about to admit that I had hunted Tristan down to kill him, so I said nothing. “He was created for immortality,” he added.

           I felt the anger rise in me, and I swallowed it before I said, “Well, apparently he was already halfway there, hmm?” I made my face impassive and continued, “So do I assume that Daniel agreed to carry him the rest of the way? If so, I do hope it is sooner than later. Or has the deed already been accomplished? The lad surely suffered greatly.”

           He shot me a fierce glance before he turned his attention back to the apple in his delicate fingers. “Yes, Daniel is going to turn him, and soon. But . . . ,” here, he trailed off, and I knew he must be listening across the distance. “No, not yet. I can still hear the tremble of his mortal heart. But soon.”

           I said nothing, for what was there to say? Louis had put me in my rightful place, reinforced strongly by the dreams of my fledgling. I had no right to my blinding anger, and it didn’t matter, anyway. I was being foolish.

           Suddenly, Lestat turned and hurled the priceless apple through the window with such force that not only did it shatter the panes, there was a high probability that it would damage whatever it met with outside. Charles bolted up the stairs again and stopped at the doorway, merely observing the two of us, still as statues.  

           I murmured, “Charles, love, you will need to see about getting my window repaired tomorrow.” After he stammered his assent, I added, “And would you mind very much checking to make sure that we don’t have to make additional repairs to our neighbor’s property?” After again assenting and taking another look at Lestat, Charles departed.

           “Feel better?” I asked. “Or would you like to smash something else in my study?”

           “Honestly, yes. I could smash everything in here. But that wouldn’t change anything. Louis is gone, and you’re back to ‘life as normal for David,’ and where am I?” He gave a short, mirthless chortle. “’Right where you deserve,’ is that your answer?”

His shoulders sagged just slightly, and he turned to face me. “For what it’s worth, let me again clarify that I did not plan for it to go so far, David. I know you and Louis don’t believe me, but it’s true. I didn’t start out thinking, ‘Oh, I’ll make it where he’ll have to become vampire or die.’ It just . . . went too far.” He paused just a beat before adding, “And whatever you think, this is **not** Lucas, second verse. Tristan is **nothing** like Lucas.”

           That much, I would concede. As far as I was concerned, Lucas was nothing but a manipulative drug addict. While I never condoned his torture at Armand’s hand, neither was I overly sympathetic toward him. Tristan, on the other hand, had a depth of character to him that Lucas lacked. Indeed, it was my compassion toward the lad that induced me to hesitate long enough for Louis to intervene, while at the same time it fueled my revulsion at Lestat’s carelessness. Yet again, though, I wasn’t about to divulge that I had seen the boy for myself; so I sat in silence.

“Bah! Go to hell, you self-righteous hypocrite!” He turned to stalk out of the study.

           “I don’t blame you,” I called to him, and he stopped at the doorway. “I don’t blame you for wanting Tristan, love. Nor do I think he is like Lucas,” I added. He turned just slightly, and I sighed. “I love you, Lestat. You know that I do. I love Louis, as well. I confess that I hurt when he suffers, but I don’t blame you for his suffering.”  

           My beautiful maker turned to look at me fully, his expression softened, “No one has to blame me, David. I do a fine job of that, myself.” Then he departed as quickly as he had come.

The next evening, sometime after I had attended a board meeting of one of my several local businesses, stopped to feed, then returned home, Lestat made another appearance – this one a bit more conventional. He had allowed Charles to answer the door and admit him. (Charles always admitted him, of course. The thought that Charles **could** bar Lestat even if I had requested it of him, was laughable.)  

He handed me a small, square box covered in gold foil and tied with a slip of cream satin ribbon. I looked at him inquiringly as I took it from his hand. “A peace offering, if you will.” He turned to look out the freshly-repaired window, crossing his arms.

I lifted one brow, but opened the box to find another ruby lead-crystal apple. “Quite nice,” I commented, lifting it from the nest of silk packing. “How very thoughtful.” I held it up to the light and noted that it had even finer clarity than the one he had destroyed, although it was similar in size and weight.

He glanced at me over his shoulder and remarked, “Yes, well, I suppose it was the least I could do since I broke your other one.” He turned back to the window. “It’s amazing how I seem to let such pretty, precious things slip through my fingers sometimes.”

I lifted my brow again and pursed my lips. “Indeed,” I murmured as I rose and carefully placed it on the shelf where the other had been.

“I would have given you my cherry, but I lost that ages ago,” he quipped, turning to face me with his smug smile.  

I met his smile with one of my own. “I would never have aspired to your cherry, love. Having you as the apple of my eye is more than sufficient. Thank you.”

At that, he had merely snorted, looked around my study a few more minutes without saying anything, and left as abruptly as he had the previous evening.

          

Shortly after dusk on a subsequent evening, we were sitting in my study, poring over a chess board. Lestat was a bolder player than I, but I was infinitely more patient than he. As such, the longer the game the more likely that I would emerge as the victor. I confess that I used this to my advantage, taking far longer to decide upon my moves than was absolutely necessary.

           It was during one of these deliberations that Lestat spoke without preamble. “I’m going to say this one time and one time only. I know that something else went down before you two left Italy, and I **will** get to the bottom of it since you haven’t chosen to reveal it to me.” I looked up, but said nothing as he studied my countenance. “Yes, yes. That face may be suitable for playing poker, or chess, as the case may be, but I **will** find out.”

           I carefully lowered my eyes back to the board as I lifted a bishop to take his pawn. “I’ve no idea to what you are referring, love. Check.”

           He turned his attention to the board, quickly examining the possible moves and their repercussions. “Oh, but I think you know exactly what I’m referring to, David.” He quickly took my bishop with a knight.

           I looked at the board, then glanced up at him. “Are you sure you want to do that, darling? I will win in three moves.” But he suddenly gasped and was staring into space, his eyes moving as if watching a film. I frowned. “Lestat? Are you all right? What is wrong?”

           “I . . . I have to go,” he stammered and rose, backing away from the table.

           “Lestat?” I rose with him, concerned. He said not a word, his mind seeing something that was beyond the walls. “What is it?” I pressed.

             “It’s done. It’s . . . ,” but here, he turned and left without further comment.

           Perplexed, I considered following him. Instead, I opened my mind gift, casting about for some apocalyptic occurrence that would elicit such a reaction. Louis’ mind was closed, but Brian’s told me that nothing was amiss. Then, I chided myself. Lestat would not have been able to see Louis any more than he could see me. No. Who else? Who else, indeed. I sighed and resumed my seat. It took but a flick of my mind—Tristan had been turned.


	55. NY to NOLA ~ Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel and Tristan head to NOLA

Daniel

NY to NOLA ~ Part One

        

Within a few nights, we were in New York, greeted by freezing rain that seemed to worsen on our drive from the airport. It was inconvenient to say the least, but Tristan would have to feed and I had to admit my own hunger was making me somewhat irritable. I had the driver stop at my townhouse where I handed off our bags to the doorman, and then we were on our way to one of the local bars. I wasn't in the mood for upscale dining, and with the intensity of a newborn's hunger, there was little time to waste on seduction and small talk. We settled on an underground club where in the dark, several encounters could be had without effort. Tristan of course, was fascinated. For the most part, he had been silent while taking in the scenery, the lights, Times Square, the towering facades and everything that was so different than Rome and most certainly than the rolling hills of Tuscany. Finally he broke his silence as we were standing in an alcove outside the bar.

"I'm spellbound!" he laughed softly. "Everything is so new, so inviting. I can't help but to wonder, does the blood of this city, these American beauties, taste different? Surely it must. Oh but Daniel," he shook his head, "I can't believe I didn't demand to be given this life long ago. No regrets si? No regrets."

He slapped my shoulder casually and I again took in not just his beauty in this new form, but felt an appreciation for the blending of what he had been, that essence brought to the forefront in a way that demanded attention. "Just remember," I told him, "You won't want to stop, but we can't be leaving bodies in our wake - at least not here. I'll be your wingman and…"

"My what?"

"Wing man, you know?" his expression told me the reference didn't translate at all. "I guess that means your partner in crime in this instance. I'll be drinking right along with you but you must, Tristan, you must listen to me when I tell you to stop. Understand? If you don't, we'll leave the body in our wake, but that will be it for the night."

"Capito, papa," he leaned against me laughing like a perfectly drunken mortal.

"Then I will just have to drink from you, won't I?"

"Yeah, right, don't papa me. We can entertain that idea when we get home." I pushed him away. "I'm serious though, you can corral the girl or guy, and we'll go with the idea that of a sort of threesome and share the drink in that way. It's not difficult as you've already seen to put ideas into a person's mind. I will warn you too that if they're intoxicated on anything, you will certainly experience that as well."

"Then what are we waiting for, I say?" he stepped away and I followed him down into the darkness where all further verbal conversation was obliterated by music so loud it reverberated against my chest. While we couldn't read one another's thoughts, our eyes danced in delighted understanding when in only a short time we moved against a girl with long, dark hair. She seemed hypnotized and it was easy to believe; as I said, he was breathtaking. He danced against her sensually, pulling her hair in one hand while the other firmly caressed her neck. I had to admit that it was darkly amusing to watch as he processed the new sensations. I thought of my first kills. Had they been sloppy? Had I been seductive to my victims? I couldn't remember, and in truth, happily, I didn't care anymore.

I watched his thumb run along the pulsing vein saw his deep inhalation and knew the hunger as my own. No matter how many years I might have on him, the instinct and dizzying desire for the blood was rekindled by the lust within his eyes. She didn't even notice when I stepped up behind her and pulled her hair back for his approach. Soon, he was kissing her mouth, downward then as I watched… yes, I thought, make it quick and painless. As he sank those deadly little teeth deep into her jugular, he pulled her to him fiercely and she fainted. This was an unexpected advantage, and I moved quickly to lift her wrist to my own mouth. As

I drank, I met Tristan's gaze and gave the briefest shake of my head. Stop… I thought, though I knew it wouldn't transmit to him. Not for the first time I cursed that aspect of the turn, but he raised himself from her body and staggered backward. I continued to pull the richness of her blood into my mouth; she tasted like cheap red wine and broken dreams. Tristan knocked into a table and glasses tumbled to the floor. I broke free of the girl and pulled her to a booth in the corner. She would wake with nothing more than a headache and vague memories that might inspire her to get started on that book she'd been thinking of putting to paper. The guys sitting at the table got up and started yelling about the drinks that had spilled, and quickly we were on them, one apiece. The blonde I held in my arms had enough alcohol in his system that one spilled drink was laughable. Underneath a whiskey that was certainly not top shelf, the drugs in his system infiltrated my brain… ah, now that was a long-lost feeling. I broke away and let him fall to the floor near the table. It would probably attract a few stares, but in the moment, I couldn't care. I moved to Tristan and put a hand on his shoulder to pull him from the kid with a wicked green stripe in his hair. There was a stripe, wasn't there? The music was deafening, throbbing like the heart I had nearly depleted.

"We need to go," I dragged him away into the crowd and in our own drunkenness we leaned against one another and appeared to be nothing more than lovers dancing in the darkness. It was tempting to relent when he kissed my face so close to my lips, but I lay my head on his shoulder as my head spun. Together we held onto the electric madness that raced in our veins.

******

When we reached my building, I stopped for a second to chat with Damon, the concierge. I collected my mail and inquired about his daughter who was getting married in less than a week. Tristan hung back in the lounge near the fireplace, but I called him over and watched as they sized one another up. If he was going to be staying here even irregularly, Damon should think of him as something other than a favored and frequent bed partner. I introduced Tristan as my nephew and while I wasn't sure that Damon believed it, as a generally nice guy who appreciated my generous tips, he wasn't going to question the matter.

Upstairs, Tristan was impressed with the apartment and I supposed, rightfully so; the view alone was worth the price I’d laid out for the building and subsequent renovations. I explained to him about the stairwell that led to the rooftop pool and an even better view but lightheartedly advised him that he shouldn't try out the gift of flight just yet. "I mean you wouldn't die even if you fell thirty stories I suppose, but you might lay there hurting like a motherfucker for a while."

"Duly noted." he laughed. "This is really something. This whole city is something to envy. I've only seen a sliver of it and yet I can smell the blood… the well, forgive my crudeness but I can smell the banquet one could find here in this place. With that and your place, hell, maybe I don't want to leave."

"You don't want to go to New Orleans?" I asked while putting on some music. He watched as I lovingly fingered the shelves of albums I'd collected over the years. I settled on a mix of classic, almost anonymous jazz and stacked them on the old hifi player I'd purchased at auction. The familiar click of the arm and the initial scratch of the needle on vinyl instantly made me feel at home. "We could stay here I guess, but as much as you might find this place to your liking, I know for a fact you're going to want to confront him sooner or later. You might as well get it out of the way, right?"

"I suppose you're right; though it would be easier to just forget I ever knew him." He walked over to inspect the albums for himself, along with the CDs and DVDs on the other shelves.

"If you'd never known him, you wouldn't be here right now with the blood of mortals in your body."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he laughed shortly. "If I'd never met him I might be in sunny Italy with my friends. I might be on holiday, watching Sabina as she bathed in the sunlight." he sighed and I felt the sadness in that breath. "I just wish I would have gone to see them one last time, after… you know."

From where I sat on one of the kitchen barstools, I shook my head. "I do know. But close your eyes right now and imagine what that would have been like. Then you better imagine that in seeing them you'd have wanted to know what they tasted like; they've been lifelong friends and yes, you "know" them, but you don't, really. No one ever really knows another from the inside out, do they? You would have wanted them in your arms, your newborn fangs sunk into Sabina's breast and Tullio's lean, tanned neck. You would have wanted to taste every secret, and I guarantee you, it would have been the end of them. So close your eyes and picture that scenario instead. I'm sure it changes that initial wish somewhat, no?"

He narrowed his eyes and walked over toward me. "I wouldn't have killed my best friends."

"If you say so: The good news is, you don't have to find out now, do you? Make yourself at home. There's a den where you can sleep for now. If we stay here we'll have to outfit it more to your liking."

"Do you want to stay here? I mean after we leave New Orleans?"

"I wouldn't mind it." I answered as I thumbed the screen on my phone. "It's sort of my territory you could say, though there are others here."

"Other vampires?"

"Sure. Our coven isn't the only one in existence, thankfully. New York is more of a hub for most of them that I've found here, but there are a few who more or less call it home."

"And do you… hang out with them?" His face was comical confusion mixed with curious fear. "You go hunting together or something?"

I shrugged. "I have a few good friends among them, namely my man, Mack. You’ll meet him soon enough. There are many others, different cliques you could say. We don't interact on purpose, but if we happen to see one another socially it's not a big deal.

It's not like we challenge one another to a duel in the middle of Times Square." At that he laughed and said he was going up to check out the pool. "Just don't dine on any of my neighbors!" I called after him as he walked out the door.

When he'd gone, I sent a text message to Maria who'd been as they say, blowing up my phone since earlier that evening. I had to confess that I was more than a little in need of the relief she would so willingly offer.

Tristan was a temptation in that regard, and had my regular lady friend not been pestering me for companionship, I would have gone out and found a similar looking substitute to soothe me. As it was, in a half hour, Maria was at the door and as timing goes, Tristan right behind her, having come down from the roof.

I let her in and made brief and somewhat awkward introductions. Like most men, Tristan's eyes were drawn to her ample cleavage. Hers on the other hand, could not leave his face.

"Daniel," she said, and all over again, I adored her accent. My name on her lips came out in three syllables: Dah-neee-al. "Your nephew now, he's joining us?" She caressed my chest and lowered her hand while still staring at him.

"No, he won't be joining us." I said pointedly. "Go on and warm it up for me, mama." I swatted her ample backside and shooed her toward the bedroom.

Tristan watched her disappear then turned to me with an angry scowl. "Really? You're going to…whatever you're going to do and I'm what, supposed to just sit out here and listen?"

"Hey, I have the best headphones money can buy." I laughed and picked them up from the coffee table. "Let me tell you something." my voice turned more serious. "The last few weeks haven't just been stressful for you. Would you agree with that? Am I asking too much here?" He didn't say anything until I opened the door to my room where Maria winked at me.

"Well pardon me. Just because I'm a vampire now doesn't mean I don't have those needs."

"I think you had more needs in that department than most mortal boys did and that won't change now - if anything it will get worse in the beginning. But think about this - we're leaving for New Orleans tomorrow. I can't think of a better place for a newborn vampire to get laid." I left it at that and disappeared into my room.


	56. NY to NOLA ~ Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel and Tristan exploring the flavors of New Orleans and prepare to see Lestat.

Daniel   
NY to NOLA ~ Part One 

 

Within a few nights, we were in New York, greeted by freezing rain that seemed to worsen on our drive from the airport. It was inconvenient to say the least, but Tristan would have to feed and I had to admit my own hunger was making me somewhat irritable. I had the driver stop at my townhouse where I handed off our bags to the doorman, and then we were on our way to one of the local bars. I wasn't in the mood for upscale dining, and with the intensity of a newborn's hunger, there was little time to waste on seduction and small talk. We settled on an underground club where in the dark, several encounters could be had without effort. Tristan of course, was fascinated. For the most part, he had been silent while taking in the scenery, the lights, Times Square, the towering facades and everything that was so different than Rome and most certainly than the rolling hills of Tuscany. Finally he broke his silence as we were standing in an alcove outside the bar. 

"I'm spellbound!" he laughed softly. "Everything is so new, so inviting. I can't help but to wonder, does the blood of this city, these American beauties, taste different? Surely it must. Oh but Daniel," he shook his head, "I can't believe I didn't demand to be given this life long ago. No regrets si? No regrets." 

He slapped my shoulder casually and I again took in not just his beauty in this new form, but felt an appreciation for the blending of what he had been, that essence brought to the forefront in a way that demanded attention. "Just remember," I told him, "You won't want to stop, but we can't be leaving bodies in our wake - at least not here. I'll be your wingman and…" 

"My what?" 

 

"Wing man, you know?" his expression told me the reference didn't translate at all. "I guess that means your partner in crime in this instance. I'll be drinking right along with you but you must, Tristan, you must listen to me when I tell you to stop. Understand? If you don't, we'll leave the body in our wake, but that will be it for the night." 

"Capito, papa," he leaned against me laughing like a perfectly drunken mortal.   
"Then I will just have to drink from you, won't I?" 

"Yeah, right, don't papa me. We can entertain that idea when we get home." I pushed him away. "I'm serious though, you can corral the girl or guy, and we'll go with the idea that of a sort of threesome and share the drink in that way. It's not difficult as you've already seen to put ideas into a person's mind. I will warn you too that if they're intoxicated on anything, you will certainly experience that as well." 

"Then what are we waiting for, I say?" he stepped away and I followed him down into the darkness where all further verbal conversation was obliterated by music so loud it reverberated against my chest. While we couldn't read one another's thoughts, our eyes danced in delighted understanding when in only a short time we moved against a girl with long, dark hair. She seemed hypnotized and it was easy to believe; as I said, he was breathtaking. He danced against her sensually, pulling her hair in one hand while the other firmly caressed her neck. I had to admit that it was darkly amusing to watch as he processed the new sensations. I thought of my first kills. Had they been sloppy? Had I been seductive to my victims? I couldn't remember, and in truth, happily, I didn't care anymore. 

I watched his thumb run along the pulsing vein saw his deep inhalation and knew the hunger as my own. No matter how many years I might have on him, the instinct and dizzying desire for the blood was rekindled by the lust within his eyes. She didn't even notice when I stepped up behind her and pulled her hair back for his approach. Soon, he was kissing her mouth, downward then as I watched… yes, I thought, make it quick and painless. As he sank those deadly little teeth deep into her jugular, he pulled her to him fiercely and she fainted. This was an unexpected advantage, and I moved quickly to lift her wrist to my own mouth. As   
I drank, I met Tristan's gaze and gave the briefest shake of my head. Stop… I thought, though I knew it wouldn't transmit to him. Not for the first time I cursed that aspect of the turn, but he raised himself from her body and staggered backward. I continued to pull the richness of her blood into my mouth; she tasted like cheap red wine and broken dreams. Tristan knocked into a table and glasses tumbled to the floor. I broke free of the girl and pulled her to a booth in the corner. She would wake with nothing more than a headache and vague memories that might inspire her to get started on that book she'd been thinking of putting to paper. The guys sitting at the table got up and started yelling about the drinks that had spilled, and quickly we were on them, one apiece. The blonde I held in my arms had enough alcohol in his system that one spilled drink was laughable. Underneath a whiskey that was certainly not top shelf, the drugs in his system infiltrated my brain… ah, now that was a long-lost feeling. I broke away and let him fall to the floor near the table. It would probably attract a few stares, but in the moment, I couldn't care. I moved to Tristan and put a hand on his shoulder to pull him from the kid with a wicked green stripe in his hair. There was a stripe, wasn't there? The music was deafening, throbbing like the heart I had nearly depleted. 

"We need to go," I dragged him away into the crowd and in our own drunkenness we leaned against one another and appeared to be nothing more than lovers dancing in the darkness. It was tempting to relent when he kissed my face so close to my lips, but I lay my head on his shoulder as my head spun. Together we held onto the electric madness that raced in our veins. 

****** 

 

When we reached my building, I stopped for a second to chat with Damon, the concierge. I collected my mail and inquired about his daughter who was getting married in less than a week. Tristan hung back in the lounge near the fireplace, but I called him over and watched as they sized one another up. If he was going to be staying here even irregularly, Damon should think of him as something other than a favored and frequent bed partner. I introduced Tristan as my nephew and while I wasn't sure that Damon believed it, as a generally nice guy who appreciated my generous tips, he wasn't going to question the matter. 

 

Upstairs, Tristan was impressed with the apartment and I supposed, rightfully so; the view alone was worth the price I’d laid out for the building and subsequent renovations. I explained to him about the stairwell that led to the rooftop pool and an even better view but lightheartedly advised him that he shouldn't try out the gift of flight just yet. "I mean you wouldn't die even if you fell thirty stories I suppose, but you might lay there hurting like a motherfucker for a while." 

"Duly noted." he laughed. "This is really something. This whole city is something to envy. I've only seen a sliver of it and yet I can smell the blood… the well, forgive my crudeness but I can smell the banquet one could find here in this place. With that and your place, hell, maybe I don't want to leave." 

"You don't want to go to New Orleans?" I asked while putting on some music. He watched as I lovingly fingered the shelves of albums I'd collected over the years. I settled on a mix of classic, almost anonymous jazz and stacked them on the old hifi player I'd purchased at auction. The familiar click of the arm and the initial scratch of the needle on vinyl instantly made me feel at home. "We could stay here I guess, but as much as you might find this place to your liking, I know for a fact you're going to want to confront him sooner or later. You might as well get it out of the way, right?" 

"I suppose you're right; though it would be easier to just forget I ever knew him." He walked over to inspect the albums for himself, along with the CDs and DVDs on the other shelves. 

"If you'd never known him, you wouldn't be here right now with the blood of mortals in your body." 

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he laughed shortly. "If I'd never met him I might be in sunny Italy with my friends. I might be on holiday, watching Sabina as she bathed in the sunlight." he sighed and I felt the sadness in that breath. "I just wish I would have gone to see them one last time, after… you know." 

 

From where I sat on one of the kitchen barstools, I shook my head. "I do know. But close your eyes right now and imagine what that would have been like. Then you better imagine that in seeing them you'd have wanted to know what they tasted like; they've been lifelong friends and yes, you "know" them, but you don't, really. No one ever really knows another from the inside out, do they? You would have wanted them in your arms, your newborn fangs sunk into Sabina's breast and Tullio's lean, tanned neck. You would have wanted to taste every secret, and I guarantee you, it would have been the end of them. So close your eyes and picture that scenario instead. I'm sure it changes that initial wish somewhat, no?" 

He narrowed his eyes and walked over toward me. "I wouldn't have killed my best friends." 

"If you say so: The good news is, you don't have to find out now, do you? Make yourself at home. There's a den where you can sleep for now. If we stay here we'll have to outfit it more to your liking." 

"Do you want to stay here? I mean after we leave New Orleans?" 

"I wouldn't mind it." I answered as I thumbed the screen on my phone. "It's sort of my territory you could say, though there are others here." 

"Other vampires?" 

"Sure. Our coven isn't the only one in existence, thankfully. New York is more of a hub for most of them that I've found here, but there are a few who more or less call it home." 

"And do you… hang out with them?" His face was comical confusion mixed with curious fear. "You go hunting together or something?" 

I shrugged. "I have a few good friends among them, namely my man, Mack. You’ll meet him soon enough. There are many others, different cliques you could say. We don't interact on purpose, but if we happen to see one another socially it's not a big deal.   
It's not like we challenge one another to a duel in the middle of Times Square." At that he laughed and said he was going up to check out the pool. "Just don't dine on any of my neighbors!" I called after him as he walked out the door. 

When he'd gone, I sent a text message to Maria who'd been as they say, blowing up my phone since earlier that evening. I had to confess that I was more than a little in need of the relief she would so willingly offer.   
Tristan was a temptation in that regard, and had my regular lady friend not been pestering me for companionship, I would have gone out and found a similar looking substitute to soothe me. As it was, in a half hour, Maria was at the door and as timing goes, Tristan right behind her, having come down from the roof. 

I let her in and made brief and somewhat awkward introductions. Like most men, Tristan's eyes were drawn to her ample cleavage. Hers on the other hand, could not leave his face. 

"Daniel," she said, and all over again, I adored her accent. My name on her lips came out in three syllables: Dah-neee-al. "Your nephew now, he's joining us?" She caressed my chest and lowered her hand while still staring at him. 

"No, he won't be joining us." I said pointedly. "Go on and warm it up for me, mama." I swatted her ample backside and shooed her toward the bedroom. 

Tristan watched her disappear then turned to me with an angry scowl. "Really? You're going to…whatever you're going to do and I'm what, supposed to just sit out here and listen?" 

"Hey, I have the best headphones money can buy." I laughed and picked them up from the coffee table. "Let me tell you something." my voice turned more serious. "The last few weeks haven't just been stressful for you. Would you agree with that? Am I asking too much here?" He didn't say anything until I opened the door to my room where Maria winked at me. 

 

"Well pardon me. Just because I'm a vampire now doesn't mean I don't have those needs." 

"I think you had more needs in that department than most mortal boys did and that won't change now - if anything it will get worse in the beginning. But think about this - we're leaving for New Orleans tomorrow. I can't think of a better place for a newborn vampire to get laid." I left it at that and disappeared into my room.


	57. Vita Nova

Tristan

Vita Nova

At first it felt as if my head was about to burst into a myriad of helpless pieces. The chaotic assault of far too many voices, noises and mental waves threaten to overwhelm me as soon as we joined the swarming crowd at the JFK arrivals terminal. After a moment or two of absolute dismay and a fair amount of cringing I tried to put into practice Daniel’s instructions and focused on the flow of my own breath until I managed to filter out the largest part of the surrounding mortal activity congratulating myself with a long appreciative sigh. It was like entering a room with a radio set on ear-smashing high volume broadcasting all possible range of frequencies at the same time, twiddle the right handles and eventually enjoy your favorite program at the most congenial intensity. I settled on the monotonous Quran recitation offered by the gentleman walking in front of us and, clinging to his pious mind, I distanced myself from the psychic strain all around.

 _Praise be to Allah, the Cherisher and Sustainer of the Worlds._ I followed Daniel on the escalator. _The Compassionate, the Merciful._

“Tris?”

_Guide us in the straight path, the path of those whom Thou hast favored. On whom Thy indignation has not befallen, and who have not gone astray._

“Hm?” I absently acknowledged Daniel’s demanding tone without taking my eyes off my unsuspecting savior.

_The Way of those on whom You have bestowed Your Grace._

“What the hell are you doing?” he snorted and as soon as I took notice of my man’s robotic movements and glazed over eyes, I realized I was accidentally causing quite a scene.

“What, me?” I blinked and prudently shifted my attention to Daniel’s perplexed expression. “Hey, I’m fine. I’m…um, just training my overly sensitive perceptions, I guess.”

His violet eyes slowly veered on the mortal as he left through the exit portals and then settled back upon me. “Yeah well, keep that up and you'll leave a trail of brainless mortals in your wake.”

“Whatever,” I said. “Just remind me to purchase a copy of the Quran when we bump into a bookstore.”

“This is going to be interesting.” He muttered.

“Hey, come on. I just followed your recommendation, aren’t you proud? And by the way,” I teasingly kissed his cheek. “I’m starving.”

# ************

Less than an hour later, I was swaying away on the dance floor to insanely loud music in some dark underground club Daniel had picked for a couple of early drinks and, in the voluptuous closeness to those stranger and beautiful bodies all around us, I reveled in the magnetic foretaste of what New York had to offer.

I smiled to the pretty girl who was intriguingly dancing her way through the crowd, loving the way her eyes moved over me from under those heavily mascara-enhanced lashes. We moved closer and, as she reached out to tease the buttons of my shirt, Daniel and I exchanged a brief concerted smile.

I longingly ventured one hand through her long dark hair and prompted the warm skin of her throat watching her deep red lips part for me. Daniel gave an imperceptible yet decisive nod and pulled back the girl’s hair to better expose the invitation of her skin. I bent down to kiss her and, as my mouth moved downwards, I pulled her into my arms so that she could perceive all the eagerness of my desire pressed against her. My hand travelled over her thin little dress to brush the fullness of her breasts, yet no matter how the game seemed to amuse us both, the moment I deepened my kiss unto her neck, my delicate lady fainted in my arms. As her blood rushed through me I nearly laughed out loud, loving the uncalculated dizziness induced by the deadly cocktails she had indulged in. I looked at Daniel as he held the girl’s wrist to his mouth and couldn’t help finding the image of the three of us exceedingly sensuous. Or perhaps I was simply starving for pleasures of a different and far too long denied nature. My speculation was however interrupted by Daniel’s silent injunction to stop before we ended up leaving a corpse on the sticky dance floor. I reluctantly pulled away and staggered backward until I knocked one or two glasses on the floor and nearly fell straight across the lap of a blonde guy sitting at one of the tables near the wall. In no time he and his friend had accepted our apologies and in their drunken state, both blissfully unaware of the irony of it, they insisted that we joined them for a drink.

In the end, as Daniel dragged me back into the crowd, I turned around to cast a brief glance over our friends lying across the floor picturing the two of them waking up in a few hours with a memorable headache and no clue about what had really happened. I wrapped both my arms around Daniel’s neck and, as our bodies moved together to the throbbing rhythm of some deafening Skrillex remix, I brushed the corner of his mouth with my lips, wanting him to know I couldn’t have possibly dreamed a better start for our first night in New York.

# **********

I usually don’t indulge in the regrettable habit of standing with my mouth open in total awe, but I suppose that was exactly the way I looked as soon as the door opened on Daniel’s apartment. The furniture was minimal in a sophisticated kind of way and so intrinsically different from what falls under the so-called European fashion. I moved to the window and literally gasped at the magnificent view over the city skyline. When I expressed the wish for a solitary moment he explained where I could locate the stairwell leading to the rooftop pool and I left him, thinking this was the first time he let me walk out of his sight since the night of my inception.

As soon as I pushed the glass door open and walked into the open air, I was welcomed by a rather ominous icy gust of wind, which promptly turned my hair into a ruffled mess and forced me to reconsider my decisions. Yet the sight of the dark evolutions of the clouds over the lights of the city below seemed to beckon and I just could not resist their menacing fascination. I settled under a canopy and watched the merciless downpour, falling inescapably in love with its fury.

I pushed the moist strands of hair from my eyes and concentrated on the rippling water spectacle until I realized I was able to envision every single luminous raindrop dissolve into the pool surface in slow motion. I cannot tell whether I was laughing or weeping as boundless emotion washed throughout me in devastating waves of immaculate acceptance and I had to wonder just how long it would have taken my immortal self before it could resist the temptation to renounce sanity and merge into an irreversible state of sublimating beauty– indeed like a drop of rain dissolving into the ocean. It was however not the night, nor the place to linger too long on imprudent mysticisms and, as I reeled back down the stairway, all I truly wanted was to rush back to Daniel and tell him all about his rooftop pool epiphany.

Regrettably he had different arrangements in mind and, as I reached his floor, I noticed the gaudy presence of woman trotting ahead of me along the corridor. She stopped at Daniel’s front door, took a moment to smoothen out the tight skirt over her ample ass and eventually rang the bell. When Daniel opened the door to greet her, his initial warm smile promptly turned into a grimace as soon as he’d spotted the inquisitive raise of my brow behind her.

“Thank you for coming on such a short notice, Maria” he addressed the woman but kept his eyes on me. “I would like you to meet my nephew.”

It was the second time he’d introduced me as his nephew that night, first to the concierge downstairs and now to Madame Big Boobs. I wondered if Daniel realized just how implicitly indecent the statement had sounded on both occasions for clearly no one believed he could have been my dear uncle. Despite his allusions to what connections he had around the world, the idea was rather ludicrous to me: We’d have to come up with a more plausible cover story

“Hello Maria,” I purred, mentally measuring the size of her graces. “My name is

Tristan, it’s quite an unexpected pleasure to meet you.”

“Ah but isn’t he pretty?” she laughed and leaned up against his side. “Tell me, Daniel, your ‘nephew’ now, he’s joining us?” I followed the movement of her pink-lacquered nails as they glided from Daniel’s chest all the way down to his groin.

As I stared at her hand teasing him through the fabric of his jeans, Daniel informed everyone –me in particular- that no, the pretty nephew had not been invited to the exclusive party and briskly slapped Maria’s buttocks sending her straight into the bedroom. I waited until the door closed behind her and finally turned to Daniel with what I prayed hit as unabashed indignation. “Really?” I hissed. “You’re going to…whatever you’re going to do and I’m what, supposed to just sit out here and listen? I just can’t believe this!”

He laughed dismissively and showed me to the pair of headphones on the coffee table suggesting they would have worked wonders in muffling out what was about to be consumed in the other room and insisted he needed to release the tension accumulated in the past few weeks. When I contested that I might have actually required a similar therapy –and quite incontestably I did- Daniel lowered his tone and put an abrupt end to the conversation stating that we were leaving for New Orleans the following night and apparently there was no more ideal place for someone like me to fuck his way to sheer oblivion. I opened my mouth to ask him to further elaborate the concept for me but he had already vanished into the bedroom and rather unceremoniously left me staring at his door.

# ************

By the next night when I stood on the narrow gallery of a hotel suite overlooking the Mississippi river, I’d forgotten all about such needs or the perspectives of them anyhow. It was rather inconceivable to imagine that, as I looked out over the city with this new vision, so too was Lestat somewhere, seeing it with his magnificent eyes.

I lowered my head and silently questioned my own motives –what were my expectations, did I really need to see him and throw my anger at him? Would our confrontation have made any substantial difference? He had decreed I was no longer worth of his consideration and there was indeed very little that could be said or done on the subject. Yet I knew I needed to see him and to hear those words coming out of his mouth if I wanted to come to terms with the end of all that we used to be.

I felt my fists clench around the wrought iron railing and no matter how tenaciously I tried to chase the memory away, the rich sound of his laughter came back to me in a low surging flow. I thought of that distant autumn night when he’d entered my life for the first time. Lestat had spoken my name in a whisper taking my hand and delivering a soft reverent kiss upon each one of my fingers. I thought of that child -so irreparably lost to the sensation his touch imparted, blinded by the preternatural radiance of his beauty, languishing for the forbidden deliverance his wounds bestowed- and I knew that no matter how I needed to disown him now, he would always be a part of me.

I followed the slow progression of a ferry far away on the river, letting my eyes and thoughts drift away with the bright wake its passage left behind. Then I shook my head and remembered that Daniel was waiting for me in the adjoining suite. He had previously asked me to change into the darkest apparel my bag could possibly contain and in the end I had opted for a black military shirt with a black tank top underneath, tight black jeans and black boots and once my dress code had been approved, we finally left the hotel and ventured out into the evening jasmine-scented breeze.

# **************

“You’re just not going to tell me where we’re heading to, are you?” I asked throwing an admired glance over the luscious greenery cascading from the balconies all around us as we walked toward the mysterious venue Daniel had selected for the night.

“We’re almost there,” he said flatly. “And soon you’ll see why I insisted that you changed into something more appropriate.”

I gave him a skeptical side-glance and dug my hands deep into the leather jacket he’d lent me. “Well, congratulations. You’re officially making me nervous.”

“Am I?” he thumbed his phone without really paying much attention to my comment. “Don’t worry, you’re going to love it.”

At least this was Daniel’s assumption and by the time we’d entered the dimly lit site it instantly became clear this was not the local book society headquarters. All around us throbbed a realm of genderless creatures where the line between male and female, and all that lies in the middle, has been abrogated. I watched Daniel cross the club floor and approach the bartender trying to fathom the nature of their exchange, but the music was too loud and in the end the tight sequin dress of the lovely boy smiling at me from underneath the candelabra far more interesting. He was just about to adorn my mouth with his lipstick when Daniel re-appeared ten minutes later and gave us a rather perplexed look.

“Sorry to interrupt here but we need to go.” he blurted.

“And just where if I may?” I asked.

“Downstairs,” he glanced over at the deep burgundy velvet curtains near the bar and firmly took my hand. “Come on.”

The bartender Daniel had been conversing with earlier pulled the curtains to reveal what for sure looked like a restricted area door and gave me a knowing greasy smirk as Daniel pulled me past him. We went through another door, then down a set of stairs and as soon as we’d emerged from a narrow underground passageway we came into the most exclusive and undoubtedly soundproof room the club management could offer.

The accoutrements of the space may have dazzled me even without immortal sight and I have to admit that I was instantly intrigued. But as I saw three mortals enter, a waifish girl and two strong young men, the thought of why they - and why I was there suddenly hit me.

“This? This is what you had in mind?” I asked my Maker who was already standing near the exit.

“Enjoy, Tristan.” he cast a glance at the girl who offered a knowing smile. “The girl must remain unharmed. As for the others, do as you will; satisfy your appetites.”

This he said in a whisper their ears could not detect, but of course I heard him, indeed more so I felt the impact of his words and as such I stood there surely looking daft. Yes, the mortals were appealing but if I were honest, the appetites they could satisfy were those that raged much stronger than any immediate and supposed need between my legs - and much to my surprise, that hadn't even stirred. With another brief nod, Daniel left the room and the three other occupants stood there in anticipation.

No, I just, "I'm sorry." I said awkwardly. If I wasn't going to join in, I had to get out of there and fast, before I let fatal hunger take control. Damn it. I looked at the men with their warm flesh beckoning my lips, their blood pulsing at the ready and I wanted nothing more from them than their very lives. I shook my head to minimally clear the fog of desire and then left to find my way up through the passageway, past the bartender and my lipstick companion, and out onto the pavement. For a moment I was weak with a new exhaustion, that of denying the thirst and I had no intention of getting accustomed to the feeling. I leaned against the building while my head spun. I must drink. My God, it was all consuming, the pull of it; I wanted to head back into the bar and slaughter a few dozen innocents. Instead, I staggered down the steps and looked down the street. Far ahead, I saw him; even from behind I knew it was Daniel and it brought a bit of a mad laugh from my lips. I was dizzy with need and the knowledge of my new abilities. Without a thought, I called to him in my mind but instantly recalled that now, that world was sealed for us. I began to walk, focused on the bob and sway of his form, focused on what felt like every minute detail of the scenery and yet, in mere seconds, I was beside him. How had that happened? I clasped my hand onto his shoulder and with a look of surprise, he turned to face me.

“Daniel, you don’t understand.” I tried to explain why the prospect of joining the sex party he’d arranged for me back at the club, no matter how dangerously tempting, had failed to titillate my lust in the end. In fact, watching him turn his back on me had made me feel sordid and, once again, deliberately brushed off.

As I stood there with my head down I saw how my life had been up to that point a perpetual, almost desperate pursue of carnal oblivion, where sex had seemed the overruling remedy a boy like me would seek in order to attain some palliative, although ephemeral consolation. I looked into Daniel’s eyes and prayed he could understand I now demanded dignity. “I don't even want to see myself as that person anymore.” I said turning away from him and, for a moment that indeed seemed agonizingly interminable, neither of us said a word.

“Very well then,” The touch of his hand on my shoulder immediately made me feel better. He pulled me over to a small deserted alley. For a minute or so, we just stood there looking out at the happy, idle tourists as they passed.

“Listen kid,” he said as he felt for something in his jacket. “A few months ago if anyone would have told me that I'd be in this of all places with a vampire child of my own, I'd have asked where they were getting their drugs.” he laughed softly and then I watched as he stepped out and without pause, bummed a cigarette from an old man. He lit it and the sharp, burning scent at once fascinated and repulsed me. “Anyway,” he said as he leaned against the bricks. “There might be something called vampire instinct as far as my teaching you the ways, but other than that, hell, I don't know a lot about what you like, or want, or need. What I'm trying to say is that if I played that wrong, I'm sorry you know? I'm sorry.” Again I thought that his tone might seem overly frank to anyone else and I wondered if he could see the heartfelt gratitude that welled up at his words. Had it not been inappropriate, I might have laughed, for really, when was the last time Lestat had apologized for disregarding my feelings? The answer was probably never, though in the new warmth I felt, I wasn't going to give it another thought.

“Thank you,” was all I could say. What I longed to do was pin him against the wall and drink in the very blood that gave me this life. In truth, I wanted it so badly I ached.

# ************

The early hours of following night had been devolved to some further and rather imperative ‘little drink’ training since, as Daniel unnecessarily reminded me, we were literally prowling across the illustrious hunting grounds of others and, as the tacit agreement goes, in similar circumstances you generally don’t want to leave a procession of corpses behind you -unless you’re purposely trying to piss the local immortals off.

Despite the dark currents rippling across my chest, we managed to have a hell of a good time and in the end succeeded in leaving no casualties on our path. We were sitting among the intoxicated customers of a crowded café when Daniel abruptly rose from his seat across the table stating he had some business he urgently needed to take care of. I stood up laughing and insisted that he shouldn’t leave an inebriated newborn fledgling on his own, but he merely shook his head and told me he trusted me to be smart enough to do as he said and just wait for his return.

I watched him disappear through the entrance and, hissing a couple of strong Italian profanities, I paid for the drinks we’d ordered but obviously never touched, and followed him through the chaos of Bourbon Street.

In no time I was standing under a dark arcade, observing my maker’s uneasiness as he conversed with another immortal, whom, under very different circumstances, I had already met in Rome although no one at the time had really nourished the inclination to indulge in introductory formalities. There was simply no way I would ever forget the effect and the implications prompted by those dark sleek hair, the fire of those green eyes. Yet I could not have foreseen that watching Louis’s fluid grace with my new immortal eyes would have proven to inflict even more pain. As I laughed at my own misery I suddenly and quite unintentionally bumped, so to speak, into the thoughts of a mortal standing at the wooden bar while broodingly glancing over at the spot where Daniel and Louis sat. I tentatively probed his mind and was welcomed by the alarmed and rather unanticipated equivalent of a door slamming in my face.

The mortal had sensed my little intrusion, he knew what I was and what I was trying to achieve and, well what can I say? He just left me no other option other than force my way in at least in the best way my new talents would allow. I could only minimally decipher the confusion that ran through his mind and when I withdrew, perhaps a little too impetuously, I shifted my gaze over Louis, who was now carefully scanning the place. Surely he must have sensed something troubled his faithful friend and sometime lover who went by the name of Brian Callahan – and I couldn't help the mischievous smile that formed on my lips as I wondered if he knew the source of his companion's discomfort.

# ****************

The night unfolded toward the epilogue Daniel knew I both yearned and dreaded. I didn’t say a word about the revelations my brief but pivotal infringement had harvested earlier, I didn’t want to deal with the repercussions Daniel would have surely put me through had he known about my untactful mind gift attempts at the expense of Louis’s protégé.

We paused in front of St. Louis Cathedral and, as I took in the imposing contours of the facade, I felt Daniel’s fingers moving over the unrealistic beads collection I had amassed around my neck during the night.

“I think you can do without these,” he said arranging most of my souvenirs over a wrought iron fence.

I studied the bright colors of those strands dancing in the breeze and then looked away. “Can we go inside?”

“As far as I know Jesus doesn’t seem to mind vampire guests.” Daniel shrugged.

“Then hopefully he will cast a benevolent glance my way.” I said with a faint smile.

The sound of our steps echoed under the high vault vibrant frescoes and as I explored the incense-saturated aisles, I could almost picture Lestat –his arm around Louis’s waist as together they drifted through the shadow at the feet of Saint Therese’s delicate statue. I couldn’t bring myself to believe what I’d seen while ransacking Brian’s mind, I just couldn’t conceive Louis’s decision to part from Lestat –because of me. Of course there had to be more to it than that, I knew. I couldn't imagine what Louis must have suffered over the long years of living with the cold, unthinking behavior I'd recently had imposed upon me. Apparently he had quite had enough and I wished I could have laughed and even applaud such amusing outcome, where Lestat finally got to taste the consequences of his own self-indulgence.

Instead I entrusted a coin to the donation box and silently added my candle –and my prayers- to the trembling evanescence of so many others. Daniel patiently waited until I walked back to where he stood. I gave him a slow nod and took his hand in mine.


	58. Different For Us All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis has an unexpected chat with Daniel and Brian gets refreshments.

**Louis**

**Different For Us All**

_“The Dark Gift is different for us all.”_

Lestat had spoken those words to me long ago; I’d been a newly made vampire, trying in vain to do as he’d directed. ‘ _Read her thoughts,_ ’ he’d said, and the words had made so little sense to me that I’d been certain I’d misheard. How did one go about doing something so outlandish? I knew he’d done just that with me before I’d become what I am, but to be told to do the same thing? How on earth would I even attempt it? I must have looked stupefied because he’d repeated himself, his tone both impatient and amused. I’d looked at the woman, still unable to fathom what to do. I narrowed my eyes but nothing happened. ‘ _I can’t’_ I’d said at last.

He was right. It is different for us all, this so-called Dark Gift. It takes us all in different ways, randomly doling out abilities and enhancements that were enough to turn many young ones quite mad. Lestat had told me that as well, and over those first nights I was by turns tormented and amazed by the changes that overtook me. There was, of course, the torment of debilitating thirst for blood and the guilt I felt at taking human life in order to assuage that craving; amazement at my enhanced perception and the sudden strength in my limbs. Amazement at seeing Lestat with my enhanced sight—if he had appeared beautiful to me before, his appearance after he’d brought me to him became nearly angelic, confoundingly dazzling. Confounding too was his sharp edge, the barely concealed anger, easily gleaned without benefit of mental communication. Of course, we could no longer communicate in that way. It was the barrier that separated his mind from mine afterward that tormented me the most, I think. The loss of that connection we’d had for such a short time left an emptiness within me that has never been filled. The brief moments of that specific and intimate communion could be reached only when we shared blood; when that connection is broken, I am reminded of that empty space.

I had learned how to read thoughts since then as I had come to learn many other things. It was David, who was quite adept at it, who took it upon himself to teach me how to shield myself from unwanted intrusions as well as how to read and, if necessary or useful, manipulate the thoughts of mortals. With his assistance I learned well enough to be able to keep myself safe and often undetected even around the more powerful of our kind and I found the more I used the Mind Gift, the more adept I became. David also taught me how to keep my mind shielded yet still allow a surface touch should it be necessary. As it turned out, I used this knowledge mostly for David’s sake since he preferred this manner of contact to trying to raise me on a mobile phone.

All this had been on my mind for the past several nights ever since I’d felt the thrum of change, a difference communicated through the synapses of whatever threads connect our kind, one to the other. It was done, Lestat’s latest whim fulfilled.  

I had been alert for this specific tremble of the vast web, something that could be felt when a new one entered our ranks if one happened to be paying attention; more often than not, it was forgotten as quickly as the knowledge was gleaned. This time, after that brief flutter, there was a dense flurry of speculation and there were enquiring touches, some concerned, some demanding and the rest merely inquisitive. I ignored all of them.

What a circular thing this life was. Would this point have been reached had I not crossed paths with Daniel and decided that I would give my story to him? It was that night that his path diverged from wherever it had been leading him and pointed him in an entirely new direction, a search to find Lestat. Armand had found him instead and he’d paid for his curiosity; my own decision to speak with him had been the catalyst. I had marked Tristan’s resemblance to Armand and no doubt Lestat had known that might play a part, subliminal or otherwise, when it came to pressing Daniel into this particular service. Who would Lestat have asked if there had been no Daniel? Perhaps it went further back than that? Suppose I’d been just another victim of the Vampire Lestat, body turned to dust after all this time?

Instead I became one in a line of pretty toys for Lestat to play with, unwilling and unable to break away from him and never mind the harm it had caused. I never wanted things to come to this point but neither did I want to remain the passive creature that Lestat used simply because he could. Was it even a relationship, predicated as it was upon my acceptance of one outrageous insult after another aimed at what I felt for him? Circular, as I said. We played it out over and over again until the ache of it turned to numbed apathy and I finally realized that it was my passivity that was likely one of the things that drove him away. He craves new experience, new sensation and when it begins to pale for him, he withdraws and certain bleakness will descend upon him. He comes back to me for comfort but I find I no longer wish to be the blanket, the cocoon, the pillow. Once he is comforted, his mood rises and off he goes again.

If my passion for him is not matched, what, then is the point? Even the simplest of my requests fall by the wayside when he is seized with some new passion. Ah, but the point was I loved him beyond all reason and that, I supposed, was all on me.

***** ***** ****

I was seated across from Brian at a table outside a restaurant on Magazine Street. We’d been going over proposals for several new building projects under the umbrella of Nola Restoration, a foundation that Lestat and I had created in the months after Hurricane Katrina devastated the city in 2005. Brian had gradually taken over the construction side of things with the help of a staff that he’d hand-picked and he’d spent the afternoon at the office on Prytania Street, going over the details of one of the current projects with George, his construction manager and good friend. “Oh, and Tee G. told me we had another visit from that…Louis?”

I heard Brian’s voice fade, heard the concern, but I held up a hand and he quieted immediately. It was not David’s familiar mind-touch that came across on this warm April night, but Daniel’s. I spotted him a few moments later, his casual approach masking his slight wariness quite well. I took a moment to take in the beauty that is so specific to our kind. Brian followed my glance and I heard his heart rate accelerate to a brisk canter followed by the lovely, somehow peppery scent of the adrenaline spilling into his bloodstream. He looked at me and I gave him a nod and a reassuring mind touch. He handles himself admirably, but he cannot control the fight or flight reactions caused by the lizard-brain.

“Hello Louis. It’s been a long time,” Daniel looked at Brian with some curiosity. “Sorry for intruding.”

Brian only nodded and as he rose, he said, “I’ll go on in and get another coffee.” He gave Daniel a severe look and went inside.

“Please sit down, Daniel. I was not altogether certain I would see you.”

He did so, looking around distractedly. “Yeah, well…” I blinked at the casual words. Brian says the phrase quite a lot and I was reminded that Daniel is a modern vampire. Daniel was restless, one leg crossed over the other, foot bouncing with his barely leashed energy. He gestured to where Brian could be seen through the large front windows of the restaurant. “Your mortal friend has a good vibe to him.”

“Brian? I would agree heartily. Don’t get any ideas.” I gave him a brief smile.

“No. As you might imagine, I have my hands full. Look, I won’t take up your time.”

“Is this why you sought me out? I knew you were in town on a mission of sorts.”

I could practically hear the hum of energy coming from him as he stood. “No. I wanted to see you. I wanted to say...I mean, you know, this wasn’t my idea.”

I nodded. “Please sit down, Daniel. I don’t care to crane up at you and you are drawing attention.” Indeed, several mortals had stopped near our table and, were staring in that semi-dazed way that happens when one of us had become noticeable for whatever reason. Daniel looked about and sat down somewhat sheepishly. “Your accommodation to the plan was most rapid,” I remarked. “But no, I don’t blame you. At this point, the idea of blame seems ludicrous. What’s done is done. “

“I think if you examine my past you might understand a little better why I did it— but the why or the how is neither here nor there. I wanted to tell you that I know what it’s like to be collateral damage and I’m sorry you have been so affected by what has happened.”

I did not speak, taking the time to think about what he’d said and casting about the immediate area for any sign of Tristan. He was not close, though I detected the thrum of his immortal heartbeat now that I was searching for it.

Not close but not far off, either. I caught Daniel’s gaze. “I expect your past is why Lestat thought you would be a likely candidate; he has a talent for discerning the best way to attain his goals.” I was watching his beautiful violet eyes and saw the quick flash of …what? Pain? Guilt? I didn’t know, but I softened my tone. “I appreciate that you came forward to speak with me directly. Very kind of you, if I may say so.”

He nodded and dragged his gaze from mine. “If I have my way, we’ll be leaving for New York immediately.”

“You plan on a life with him there?” I kept my voice neutral, but in truth I was surprised.

“I suppose that depends on what happens’” he said shortly. “He’s angry, but that could all change when he sees Lestat.” He shrugged and threw me an apologetic look. I didn’t react because I’d thought the same thing since I saw Tristan that night on the rooftop with Lestat. He went on, “We’ll have to see how it goes down. You know, a few weeks ago, I would never even have imagined this—I never realized I wanted this until it was right under my nose.”

And to that I had nothing to say, but the silence that spun out between us was not strained or uncomfortable. I thought again to my ruminations regarding my decision to reveal myself to him. I would not have predicted this outcome for him or, considering the manner of his making, that he would turn out to be more sane than many of, myself included.

 _“The Dark Gift is different for us all.”_ I thought.

After a little time had passed, he gave me a crooked smile, one in which I could see the ghost of the boy he’d been. “I’ll tell you something, though,” he said, “I think Lestat knew it all along.”

I said nothing to that for I didn’t want to infect him with the vitriol that still simmered within me. Perhaps I didn’t want to consider what he said might even be partially true…I didn’t know for sure. Daniel stood again, this time with easy grace. Beyond him Brian, who’d been watching hawk-like through the window, approached the door and came out just as Daniel said, “It’s been good to see you Louis.” His smile was warm and quite genuine. I could not help but to return it.

Daniel turned to go, nodding to Brian as he stepped past him, and then turning back. “For what it’s worth, I hope you find your way back to each other, you and

Lestat. If I ever saw any two immortals that belonged together, it’s you two. Good night.”

***** ******

Brian was not exactly ill; his pale skin and the light nausea he’d been feeling had passed by the time we reached the house, replaced by a dark moodiness that was not at all like him. Once in the house I led him upstairs and into the bathroom, directing him to remove his clothes while I ran the water. He did so, brow relaxing only when I began removing my own clothes.

I eased into the comfortably large tub and extended my hand, drawing him in to sit before me, back to my chest. His skin ridged with gooseflesh until the hot water enveloped him and he settled back with a shuddery sigh. I put my arms beneath his and locked my hands above his flat belly.  

“Better?”

“Yes,” he said. “Better.” I brushed his mind lightly and felt his welcome.

_“Look where you need to. You feel like rain, like warm rain.”_

His mind-voice was often like that, speaking as though he was dreaming. I looked and found what he’d pushed back. Tristan’s untutored, clumsy probing had been an unwelcome and injurious and Brian had already been busy growing layers of forgetfulness over the feeling of violated privacy. Even untutored, though, Tristan must easily have seen what lurked at the forefront of Brian’s mind; had he not been fretful and worried on my behalf since I’d parted ways with Lestat? Indeed he had. I wondered briefly what was going on in my former home at that moment, along with the notion that if Lestat took that boy into what had been our bed, I might just revisit my pyromaniacal ways. It was brief and, unlike my anger from the previous weeks, it was actually without much heat.

“You aren’t going to burn the Quarter down, Louis, are you?” Brian said aloud in a sleepy voice.

“Just a little daydream,” I told him. “No substance at all.”

_“Like me. Like now in the water. No substance.”_

“Shh,” I told him, unlocking my clasped hands. I sliced my wrist with my thumbnail and brought it, dripping, to his eager mouth. His thoughts became incoherent, focused only on the blood, the overpowering luscious clash with his own mortal blood and the wash of color behind his closed eyelids. I allowed him a little more than I normally did—it had been a while since I had indulged him thus. He moaned softly when I gently disengaged from him and turned in my arms to press his cheek to mine.

_‘Missed you when you were gone, Louis, and you were so strange on the phone, even in Paris.’_

_‘There was a lot to process in a short amount of time, cher.”_

_‘Will you tell me?’_

I thought about it. I would tell him some of it but there were things I knew I would never tell him, moments that I did not think I could bear to speak of aloud, not to him, not to anyone.

_‘Another time.’_

He hummed against my neck, drifting in the visions that the blood brought him. Was I moving in the direction Lestat had taken? I didn’t think so; Brian had been given these sips for years with little ill effect beyond a certain sensitivity to sunlight that lasted for a few days. Of course, there was no way to be certain—I may not have taken him too far to turn back but he was still altered, still changed.

Time would tell for the blood, the gift, this life, was different for us all.


	59. The Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The climax, in three acts. No better stage than New Orleans, wouldn't you agree?

The Reckoning

_Our apologies in advance for the length of this chapter, but it is the climax after all, and we’ve found that generally, they’re preferred to be long and satisfying – and you get three times that with this chapter, so enjoy._

##  Daniel

The inevitable night had arrived. A part of me still hoped that Tristan might just get up and announce that upon further thought he saw no point in visiting Lestat and that we could just go home. When he emerged from the bedroom dressed in a souvenir 'Laissez Les Bon Temps Rouler' T-shirt he purchased the night before, black boots, those ball-crushing jeans he seemed to favor, and a killer electric blue shirt with perhaps a mocking touch of velvet, I knew he'd had no change of heart.

"Well?" he turned around for my approval. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a good thing you're no longer concerned about fathering children." I laughed softly. "Your hair looks stunning against that blue."

"Simply stunning?" he scoffed. "I am trying to achieve mind shattering."

"Oh, I think there will be room for that effect. You might want to slip out of it while you're eating breakfast."

"Daniel, don't be crude. You know I was breakfast a week ago." he frowned as he examined himself in the long bedroom mirror. "I prefer to think of mortals now as essential elements of my new life."

"Yeah well while you're drinking in your daily essentials, you might have me hold your shirt so you look mind shattering for your confrontation."

A look of impatience crossed his face. "Can we leave already then? I'm hungry."

"Don't be so crude." I mocked as I got the room key and my jacket. As we walked toward Bourbon Street, my own hunger rose in a swift and sudden curve, but alongside it, a most unexpected sexual appetite. I told myself it was merely restless energy; I would be damned glad when this was over and we could get the hell out of this city. There would be time enough to soothe those desires once I was back in my domain. For now, a taste of creole blood might have to suffice. I hoped it would diminish the irritation that crept into my words. Tristan didn't need to think I was annoyed with him or worse, in his newness, feel that I did not want him. He'd had enough of that, hadn't he?

"Do you think it will be that, Daniel?" he asked as we paused outside one of the more crowded bars. "A confrontation?"

"How should I know?" I said abruptly, and apologized with a sigh as I scanned the crowd. "With him, it could be subdued or insane. I don't have to tell you he's unpredictable."

"No, I don't imagine you do." he echoed absently. His eyes had settled on a pair of larger ladies doing a drunken two-step near the door.

I pulled his arm until he looked at me. "Listen to me; you might think that the culture here allows us to do whatever we want, but it doesn't. I know you're thirsting, but we can't leave bodies behind, especially here in the heart of the Quarter. The other thing is, well, you know, it's a matter of territory. "

He ignored my comment as he leaned against a grimy wall that I didn't even want to touch. "God, but I'm starving." he watched the buxom blondes as they leaned on one another and called for another round.

"The night is young. There's plenty of time and plenty of mortals; you can't stop yourself at this point, I know, but that's why I'm here, right?" he looked at me questioningly. "We seduce," I shrugged. "Or you seduce, whatever; take your pick, the streets are swimming with people."

"Their blood smells so rich," he laughed softly. "I think of the nights I knew drunk on Chianti by the sea."

"Yes well, little drinks. It will be enough to tide you over, and I'll be there to stop you before there's a conga line of corpses."

"Christ but you are blunt, aren't you?"

"When it's warranted, yes." I pulled him against me and out the door. The crowd had reached the point of being pressed shoulder-to-shoulder and it would be quite easy to sip and tease our way among them as though we were nothing more than fellow intoxicated celebrants of whatever-the-fuck festival was going on that weekend.

**************

Within a few hours, his appetite was sated enough to get him through the meeting with Lestat. It was my hope that the whole thing wouldn't take very long and that he'd make the choice to leave with me. As for his first experiment with taking the infamous 'little drink', there was only one fallen body in our wake and with that many people pressed together, it wasn't suspicious to have a poor, over-served soul lying on the sidewalk. New Orleans finest took care of the guy in short order, and when he woke up he wouldn't remember anything more than the last Hurricane someone had put in his hand - and maybe not even that. Of course, Tristan himself was affected, laughing and babbling on incessantly about everything along the way; the lights, the music, could we go see the dancers, and beads. As we had charmed our way through the crowd of tourists, he'd gathered them in all manner of color and style. By the time we reached a clearing, he was decorated like a Mardi Gras puppet. He leaned into me with a wobble and put several strands around my neck. I shook my head with slow amusement. Christ but what was I doing with a fledgling? I studied his eyes as for a moment, he settled and faced me. I saw alternating currents of pain and anger that no amount of inebriation would cure. In that moment, I once more saw my old self and hated the person I was in that time. I hated that I had let it happen to me, and while I didn't comment to the fact, I was glad at least that Tristan had the balls to stand off with Lestat and hopefully break away with one swift, painful cut.

"Daje 'n po'!" he said in a song. "'Nnamo, damose 'na mossa."

"You know my Italian is shit, right? It was spoken to me, not with me, remember?"

"Mi fai morire, lo sai? You're killing me you know? I said come on, let's walk. I need some fresh air."

When I really paused to look at him, flush now with blood and his resemblance… I couldn't help but to think of those nights when that one had stroked my hair and spoken his poison lullabies. "You're not the only one piccolo visioso, you're not the only one." broken as it was from a long-ago memory, the pronunciation and inflection wasn't perfect but he laughed in understanding and appreciation. He stepped off the ledge by my side and pulled my hand; it was time to move on toward the reason we'd come here in the first place. We turned away from the crowd and headed toward Lestat's residence on Royal Street. All the while in Itanglish, Tristan commented and questioned one thing or another as the alcohol slowly leveled out in his blood. Ah the old liquid courage, I knew it well. As we paused for him to stand open-mouthed in front of St. Louis Cathedral, I removed all but a few of his beads and hung them over the wrought iron fence, then, in good tourist (and proper Roman) fashion, he went inside to light a candle. As I waited, I found myself being the one to pray he wouldn't need any fortification for the encounter.

##  Lestat

Everyone knows that being alone and being lonely are two different states of existence. For now, I was somewhere in between as I walked along the carefully laid flagstones in the courtyard behind the townhouse. This version of in between was one where Louis and I were no more and as I held that thought, I was surprised only by the emptiness of my emotions. I could not be sad; my own actions or lack of them had created the situation. Would it have been better for me to have not involved Louis and David at all and simply… simply what? Turn Tristan myself? Hand him off to Daniel then trot on home to Louis without a word of what had happened?

That wouldn't have worked, and even it had been remotely successful, when he found out about it - and he would have - it would have been even worse and he likely would have left me then as well. But perhaps it was ordained for us to be apart - even vampires, hell, especially vampires with all of eternity, need separation and time to reevaluate.

If anything, I was content that in being with Brian, there would be a degree of peace for Louis. The loyalty and humor inherent to Brian's character would to some extent, offer a domestic distraction for the offenses I'd committed: If he found physical release as well, then so much the better.

Regardless of what anyone thought, I wanted him to be happy.

He… and David as well.

I thought about what David would have done if I had chosen to handle the whole affair surreptitiously and let him find out at a later time. I could picture his reaction and had to smile at the stark differences between these two constants in my life.

And now, Tristan and Daniel: Tristan. Immortal, and here in this, my city.

I stood for a moment longer regarding the depth of the starless sky then went inside. No amount of contemplation would allow me to really wrap my mind around the fact that he was now one of us: It didn't matter how it began, who was responsible (or irresponsible), or who had done what in the end. The boy I had come to know and all we had shared together were gone and now, Tristan LaRoche was a vampire.

How nice it had been for Daniel to call and inform me of their arrival, as if without the courtesy I would be unaware of their presence. The truth was that since the night at David's when I'd heard… when I'd felt it all taking place so far away from where I sat, I'd thought of little else than the confrontation to come. In some ways, I hoped Daniel might steer him away from it - tell him there was little to be accomplished by facing me.

But if Tristan was that easily dissuaded, he wouldn't be the Tristan I knew and loved and make no mistake, love him I did, even now. Oh, I had no plan to lay those words on him now; they'd sound about like the equivalent of 'we can still be friends', and he might just see if he had the set-you-on-fire gift then and there. Yes, we should skip that unpleasantness because the greater truth was that even if he couldn't understand it now, he would come to a point likely sooner than later where he knew that in the end, love was the greater cause for my seemingly callous behavior. In time, I told myself, everything would work itself out. Que sera, sera; Have a parade and call it a day.

I made my way up the back staircase off the kitchen, down the hallway past Louis' study, past the temptation to enter it just to feel some sense of him, and down to what was now exclusively my sleeping quarters. It surely wasn't anything more: There was no lounging in bed, Louis with the newspaper as I babbled on about something on the television, no wicked intimacy under the covers, no waking up in his arms. I supposed it was a justifiable punishment for me to imagine such things as I robotically chose my clothing for the evening? What I might have preferred was to lie down in that bed and pine for him until sleep granted relief.

Instead, I quietly perused the many selections in the armoire. None of the old style tonight, no. I wanted to be striking but casual, true-to-form yet not overdone. What does one wear to such an event anyhow?

I settled on a lavender-grey silk shirt, one of the heavier weave I preferred. I paired it with dark grey pants and as I looked at myself in the mirror, added a scarf and tucked it in ascot-style. I should have been a model somewhere along the way, though I supposed rock star was a good second. I slipped on the smooth leather shoes I'd picked up at Allen Edmonds and headed downstairs.

************

The air was warm as I stepped out onto the colonnade. The abundant greenery on the balcony above my head had begun its annual transition and would soon be wound around the wrought iron to welcome the humid summer air from the Gulf. Life went on for immortals quite as it did for mortals: impartial and everunfolding.

I had sensed Daniel and Tristan from the moment I awoke and followed their procession along Bourbon Street. While Tristan was overwhelmed and lost to innumerable fascinations, his Maker surely felt the ephemeral touch of my mind upon his. I smiled to think of Daniel with a fledgling. Daniel Molloy, come full circle from that fateful night when he sat down to chat with an elegant, pale stranger. What was it he'd said to me when he called? Something about how clever it had been of me to understand subconscious reasons he had that would secure his turning Tristan? Of course cleverness had little to do with it; I had simply seen more in my immortal years than he, including more of the one who had brought Daniel into this mad existence. It was all very much like that chess game with David… knowing which piece to put where, and when. Of course, David usually kicked my ass when we played that game, and it seemed just when I thought I had achieved checkmate, life usually kicked my ass with the last laugh as it ran off with my queen.

With a long sigh at that bitter if fitting analogy, I turned in the direction of the cathedral, sensing for a brief moment the deepest and truest heartbreak emanating from Tristan as he looked at Daniel. Neither of them spoke of it, but it was there, rich and strong and horrifically, I thought what it might be like to taste that sorrow. I pushed the image away; I could not dwell on such a thing now or the deadly whirlpool of everything we'd been and all that had happened would pull me down without mercy.

When I sensed them round the corner from Ursulines onto Royal, I looked up and while I had seen him in my mind, I was in no way prepared for the true vision he presented to me in that moment. He leaned in close to Daniel then tilted his head back ever so slightly as he laughed. The sound of it reached my ears easily, but more than that it danced through my mind, at once so familiar and yet so new. Finally for a moment they paused along the buckled sidewalk across the street, less than a block from where I stood. They exchanged words briefly, then resumed the same casual pace until Tristan looked up and saw me.

Like one of those slow-motion sequences you see in the movies, they came across the street. As we faced one another, it seemed we might stand there for an hour or so, just staring.

My God, but Tristan… If Daniel weren't standing right there, I might have fallen to my knees and wept. I tell you, I would have done it right there and then in the middle of the street, but all I could do is stand there, my mouth slightly open, and watch him as he stood there in relatively the same posture. Finally, Daniel broke the spell with a gentle hand on Tristan's shoulder.

"Tristan? Hey," he got little response at first, and then when he had a moment's attention, he continued. "I'm going to wait outside. I'll be down there on the corner."

"Oh… yes…" his voice was small and his thoughts were swimming. "I'll be there, I … I yes, thank you." he stammered.

"He'll be fine, Daniel. Thank you for bringing him tonight." I offered in an attempt to bring Tristan back to the moment.

"I didn't do it for you, and remember what I said on the phone." he sent to me in a hard, direct thought.

I gave him the warmest, most innocent Southern smile I could muster and then looked to Tristan. "Come in now, I'm sure we might enjoy some privacy?"

He looked at Daniel once more then followed me into the front salon for what words must be said, regardless of the consequence.

##  Tristan

The moment we emerged into Royal Street my attention was momentarily drawn toward a small group of street musicians and as I delayed my pace to identify the lively piece they were enthusiastically offering to everyone and no one in particular, I just couldn’t fail to catch the irony of festive music playing as a prelude to what lay ahead of me.

So there I was, laughing at God’s sense of humor, when Daniel gestured to the red bricks townhouse across the street and there, beneath the balcony, to the lonely figure standing in the soft glow of the front door lantern.

I wish I could state that I marched up to that fateful meeting armed with solid determination and a clear mindset, yet all of the above, and so much more, were soon swept away the minute our eyes met. I can’t tell for how long we stood there silently taking in the sight of one another, but I for certain could have prolonged my reverie forever. I heard Daniel’s voice speaking to me and I swear it took all my resolution to part from Lestat’s face and acknowledge my Maker’s words.

“I'm going to wait outside. I'll be down there on the corner.” He said peering straight into Lestat’s eyes.

“Oh… yes. I'll be there, I … I yes, thank you.” was all I managed to stammer in response.

“He'll be fine, Daniel. Thank you for bringing him tonight.” Lestat replied softly, clearly sensing the predictable commotion of my inner thoughts. "Come in now,” he then turned to me. “I'm sure we might enjoy some privacy?”

I gave Daniel one last hesitant look and followed Lestat inside the hallway. He led me into the amber light of the sitting room and I feared the clamor of my racing heart would have paralyzed the flow of my movements. To meet again with Lestat after all that I’d gone through, to be received among his most cherished and most intimate possessions both felt surreal and incongruous. Yet I brushed the looming heaviness of melancholy aside and steadied the turmoil of my thoughts the best I could.

“Ah Tristan,” he placed his elegant fingers upon the narrow console table under the window and shook his head. “You look more stunning than I ever imagined.” Once again, I let my eyes venture over him, absorbing as many details I could –the rich grey of his silken shirt, the contrast of his hair against the light scarf around his neck, the almost angelic exquisiteness of his face. Then I forced myself out of his spell and looked away, lest the intensity of his gaze tore me apart.

“I’m glad you appreciate the general outcome, Lestat.” I said broodingly. “Yet I have to wonder whether you’d dwelled in the hope that in the end I would have spared you this visit.”

“Maybe I did. I certainly speculated what the moment would be like for each of us but believe me, no matter what you might want me to say, the truth is I’m glad you’re here. Now, won’t you let me look at you?” the sound of his laughter urged me to turn around. “My God, your eyes truly are the finest viridian miracle.”

“Are they really that different?” I let my words fill with dark humor. “I'm sure that if you stare long enough you'll be able to glimpse the boy I used to be. The boy you resolved you no longer needed, as you might recall. You shouldn’t even say the word ‘truth’ in my presence, you know. That talented tongue of yours might catch on fire.” I peered into his wavering eyes demanding the recognition he’d denied me for so long.

“Tristan...” he shook his head slowly. “You know I'm rarely at a loss for words. I barely know what to say to you. I rehearsed it, I thought of what you would say to me, but Mon Dieu, the vision of you has totally thrown me off track. Tell me this, is it... no... I know the answer. I knew the answer long before now, how it would be for you.”

“You at loss for words?” I gave a bitter laugh. “That I can hardly believe, Lestat. What is it that you want to hear? How relatively easy and indeed inescapable it has been to give up my mortal coil and embrace what you more than anyone else knew commenced a long ago in your very arms? Or would you perhaps want me to describe how easy it's been to kill my first victim? Ah but no, I'm sure all you really want to hear about would rather be how it feels to stand here in front of the great vampire Lestat now that we're bonded through immortality.”

He looked at me as I spoke and again he shook his head as if I was somehow missing the whole point. “I saw it you know? I felt it. When Daniel brought you to him. I heard your memories, Tristan, I heard you speak my name. How it feels for you now, ah, but I know how it feels. I can smell the blood of tonight’s victims on your beautiful lips.” I sensed his eyes linger on my mouth and, as he stepped closer, my jaw tensed at the thought of him knowing his name had tainted my last breath.

“Perhaps we should discuss something a little more original then,” I resentfully challenged his gaze and let my anger flow in a low whisper. “Tell me, did you have it all planned, Lestat? Was throwing me out of your life without a word, without the barest attempt of an explanation, was even the misery you have so frivolously put me through part of the game that ultimately led to this?” I said indicating my no longer mortal body. “Cristo Dio, how could you, Lestat? If nothing else I think I now deserve to know.”

He took a step backward measuring the mounting indignation in me with mild astonishment. “Tristan, nothing I say, no reason I give will be what you want to hear. Would it have been better if I'd said, 'now Tristan, you're dying, and you know I think I need to find someone to help you out with that problem.' Could I have done it differently? Of course.” he held off my interjection with the raise of one hand. “I saw the change. Do you remember the night you came into the field with me and drank from that man? Do you remember how callously you kicked his body and dismissed his death? When I saw that, I knew I had the choice to do it to you myself or kill you.” A dark shadow veiled the deep azure of his eyes. “Kill you, can you imagine that thought crossing my mind? I should have done it differently – but you certainly know me better than to think I’m going to stand here and apologize for the fact that it IS done now.”

I could and had to turn my head away trying to find my breath at the implications his words forced me to take into consideration for the very first time. I thought about the night when I’d tasted the man’s blood.

At the time, it had almost seemed to be a belligerent, drunken prank. “I remember, yes. Here’s what you’re missing maybe – I remember that night, and all the rest. I remember what _we_ used to be and I don’t mean just in the bedroom. Doesn't it mean anything to you? It probably doesn’t, of course. But did you really think you could just walk away from it all that and delegate someone else to finish the dirty job?”

“Do you see it as such?” Lestat asked with a frown. “I couldn't be the one to do it, don't ask me why. When I thought about it, I felt a ... I don't know, a panic, something unfamiliar, some instinctive voice that said ‘do not do this thing’. No one believes me if I utter the phrase 'I don't know", but sometimes I just don't. Sometimes it's like running into a wall where there are no answers to be found. What I knew was that time was running out for you. I had to hurry if it wasn't going to be me and Tristan, look,” he gestured toward where he could see Daniel through the thin curtains as he leaned against a column beneath the arcade on the street corner. “Is he so bad a choice? What difference does it make who did it or why? You are.... Tristan, you are one of us now, and you... are immaculate. _Never_ say you or this was a dirty job.”

“No, you couldn't be the one.” I seized his words and repeated them more to myself rather than adducing to any deeper significance other than their own brutality and let their consequences sink deep within me. I then cleared my gaze to look at Daniel beyond the window glass and, despite my anger, I could only agree with Lestat: it didn't make any difference at that point and I felt only gratitude toward my Maker.

“I couldn't be the one,” he restated once again in a voice so soft and somehow pained. “Maybe in time I can explain it better - and no, before you say it, that doesn't mean fabricate a truth for you. Daniel needs you.”

I looked at him standing with his hands deep into the pockets of his grey pants and tried to image the two of us sitting together, talking passionately about saints and magnificent sins, the way we used to be in the past: pure. “What... do you mean,” I tried to focus but the softness of his mouth –the memory of the taste of it threatened to take my breath away. “Why would Daniel need me?

“That's for him to tell, but when I was thinking of who should be the one, there was no clearer choice than Daniel Molloy. And for us, Tristan,” Lestat pensively brushed his thumb along his lower lip. “I believe the night will come when we can sit and have grand conversations as we once did, but it won't come just now, will it?”

I took a step away from him, hating to realize how he had just read my mind. “Should I thank you then for going through the hassle of finding me a suitable maker?” I said. “Well thank you then. I pray everything went according to your expectations. For a fact I’m sure Daniel freed you from all the little tedious burdens, didn’t he?”

“Are you kidding? I said - immaculate. You weren't a burden to me, and I'll not stand here and listen to you saying such a thing.”

I had to hand it to him – his notorious impatience hadn’t shown, nor did he react to any bait I threw out for his temper. “Then please would you mind to elaborate on just where do we stand now? What are we supposed to do from here? Perhaps we should learn to be -to use your phrasing- immaculate friends?” I snapped.

“I don't think you're really idealizing that you'll stay here with me and we'll live happily ever after, now are you?”

I took my time to repay his indelicate rhetoric with a deliberately cruel smirk before delivering my unsympathetic remark “No, your legacy in keeping an eternal partner is anything _but_ immaculate from what I understand. Is is lonely here now that Louis has left you? Are you planning to elevate me from clandestine whore to something more official in his absence? I can't imagine such an act, despite the justifiable guilt you must feel. Really Lestat, to hurt one so beautiful is a crime against art and more, but you know that of course.”

Lestat narrowed his eyes, clearly irked at the realization of me, of all people, knowing about such private event pertaining the purest ranks of his sentimental life. “Ah isn't the mind gift a beautiful thing? Did Louis deign to let you in?” he laughed softly. “No…” he thought another minute but added nothing further on that subject. “But now think: Is that what you want, Tristan? Tell me. Do you see yourself staying here in this city and…what, live down the street in a shotgun house? Because I'll tell you something else, that's not what he sees.” Again he looked over to Daniel. “As I said, I don’t think it would be wise.”

“Wise? It wouldn't be wise? Just tell me which parts of this whole venture have been wise, Lestat?” I almost hissed at him acknowledging the shot of pure and ebullient rage rushing along the veins of my arms. “And honestly? It doesn’t matter what you or Daniel ‘see’. Despite what your patronizing egotism might assume, I’m quite capable and indeed entitled to take my own fucking decisions, grazie infinite.”

“And what will your _decision_ be, Tristan?” he arched a brow and I knew by the way he emphasized each word that I was succeeding in cracking the suave façade he seemed determine to maintain even on this occasion.

“You want to hear where I see myself heading Lestat? In all honesty I really can't say. I guess I'll need to find out by myself.” I gave him a side-glare. “Meanwhile I’ll suggest that _you_ try to seek the humility you tragically lack. You might dismiss me as young and just as arrogant, but at least _I_ don't fuck with the sentiments of the ones I claim to love and then toss them out like so much fine Italian trash.”

His eyes contracted into a thin blade of unspoken fury and the very next flashing second I found myself pinned up against the wall with his fists immovably fastened onto the fabric of my shirt and his face less than an inch from my own. He held me by the throat, and as shocking as it was, as swift and merciless, I could have laughed out loud. What, did he think he was going to kill me? Then, luckily I remember who he was, and that he could, and pushed any trace of mirth down and away from his detection.

“Careful, Tristan,” he breathed out in a low menacing growl. “Don’t you know impudence suits newborn fledglings rather poorly?”

My hands had instinctively clutched around his shoulders and in the violent clash of our chests I can’t say whether I was pushing him away or whether I was rather pulling him dangerously closer. In the frenzied embrace resemblance of our immortal bodies there was no way I could deny the terrible provocation his anger mingled with the exposed skin of his throat stirred in me.

So fierce was the agony for the taste of him that a fine sweat tear of crimson ran down my neck and, as I watched it prompt a ripple of dark rapture across his all too familiar gaze, I felt we were once again fighting the old battle between fury and desire.

“I’m sure this is hardly what you came here for, Tristan.” he took a long decisive breath and carefully released me.

“No, much to your surprise I suppose, I have no plans to fall down on my knees and beg you to take my immortal body’s virginity.” I shrugged.

“I’m sure Daniel…” he left the sentence unfulfilled and scanned me with an amused smile across his lips.

“Apparently that sort of game is not on his agenda. Maybe he feels I’ve already been fucked well enough, you know, figuratively speaking?” I shrugged. “However I’d say this is none of your business now, Lestat one way or another. I came here to have my questions answered.”

“Sometimes as I said, there are no answers Tristan - and yes, that's a lesson of this life you'll come to learn on your own. Will you believe me when I say that in time, I do hope we have that purity again, and I think we will have it as I’ve already told you. For now, our lives are taking very different directions.

You can choose to go live with Daniel - and I mean _live with him_... let him show you this life. He is smart and sharp, let me tell you far more than I even remembered him. Then again, you can choose the harder way, and yes, find out everything on your own, but as a newborn immortal, that would be very unwise.”

“I don't know what to believe anymore, Lestat. What you taught me is that even the deepest understanding of two souls is nothing but an ephemeral pursuit. You didn't really think I came all the way from Italy, going through the process of becoming immortal, just to nag you on the accounts of you denying me the privilege of your bed, did you? If I'm here tonight is because I hoped to find an answer that could explain why our nights filled with endless conversations and communion are no longer needed. But I see there's no point in pursuing that path now,” I stretched out my hand towards his arm for a moment and then let it fall along the side of my body. “As for Daniel,” I turned my head to look at his figure patiently waiting for me outside and found myself longing for the sound of his laughter. “He's quite undoubtedly all I’ve got right now.”

“Tristan, our nights…” he stepped closer and paused to brush my cheek with a hesitant kiss. “Our nights never have to end. They will always exist in a place and time no one can touch.”

I had to pause and look off out the window. “You know, that's where you're wrong. For my sanity, they do have to end.”

He leaned closer still and softly whispered against my hair. “I'm sorry it cannot be something more perfect.”

“Somehow…” I placed a hand upon his chest giving him a long silent look trying to find my voice. “Somehow it’s already perfect. I just need to accept it.”

Lestat smiled and nodded in agreement. “You will, Tristan. Ah you will.” As he spoke he gently pulled me into his arms and I allowed myself to surrender to the closeness of our bodies. “This isn't our last time, beautiful. We have eternity now, don't we? Things will work out over these years to come.”

He stepped back just a little to look into my eyes. “But I want to thank you. I thought you would come here and spit far worse words in my face. I'm so pleased we did not scream at one another. There's no need hm?” he kissed my lips ever so tenderly as he whispered. “ _There is only room for better things, we should believe._ ”

“Ah but you see, I had all intentions to come here and make one hell of an Italian scene in your elegant living room, you know.” I laughed shaking my head as I took a step back knowing how easily it would have been to capitulate to the overwhelming desire for more. “But as you said… there's no need for any of that anymore. No matter how much I wish I could, I will never be able to forget all that we have shared. It is a part of me, Lestat.

No matter how I wish things could be so very different, it just can’t be any other way. What’s surprising as I stand here, is the fact that it doesn’t really hurt at all to acknowledge the fact. So I’d better go now before I decide to change my mind.” I smiled.

“Tristan,” He regarded me as I stepped back from him. “Whether it's right or wrong by anyone's standards, whether you believe me now after all that's happened, that's your choice, but I'll always be there if you need me. For now....

tell me you'll live this life. New York will be wonderful, you'll see.”

“We both know I will.” I nodded taking in the full image of him with one last silent glance. Whether or not I ever saw him again, I wanted to remember him this way.

He kept his hand on the small of my back as we walked back to the hallway and I watched the fluid movement of his fingers as they unlocked the front door for me.

“There’s both happiness and knowledge awaiting you beyond this point, Tristan.” he said. “Never look back.”

“We should all try our best not to look back. Besides,” I placed one hand on his arm and felt the stinging surge of tears I didn’t want him to regard. “Happiness is unavoidable, remember?” I said and then started to walk away before he could see the heartbreak behind the façade of my smile.

When I reached the corner where Daniel waited, he welcomed my return with an undefined expression. There was a slow but unmistakable brightening to his eyes. It took no vampire ESP to realize that my Maker hadn’t thought I’d come back to him. He thought I’d remain here, seduced perhaps by the master manipulator and Prince of New Orleans. I smiled and leaned against his chest as he rose off the bench to meet me. “Daniel, I’m all yours.”

At that, he let out a laugh that conveyed his unexpected relief and shook his head. He pulled me against him and clapped my back reassuringly. Then he turned to look in the direction from which I’d come: The two of them exchanged a silent glance, and I words I could not detect. They were words I no longer needed to know, for this night, I was leaving the traces of life with Lestat de Lioncourt behind. Again, I could only smile for the fact that the thought of it brought no distress. Maybe, as he’d said, maybe in time – and time was now mine for the taking, wasn’t it? I gently grasped my Maker’s hand and pulled him as I began to walk in the direction of our hotel. He looked at me, then back to Lestat with a nod, signaling the end of their communion. The tide of my newborn hunger was rising and I wanted to glut myself in the far reaches of the city, outside anyone’s territory. I wanted to hear the echo of Lestat’s words, I wanted the blood to drown any memories of our time together. It was a drug I must abandon if I was to survive this new life. I felt it more surely than I’d felt anything in a very long time. By my side, my Maker – he who for his own reasons had agreed to offer his kiss of resurrection to a boy who had long ago died for the love of a vampire. I knew with him I could have a future as I’d never imagined, and as we walked into the night, it was all I longed to know.

  


End file.
